Like shattered glass bestrewn,
This life of Divine ordain.
There is not one who is immune
From agony so chronic.
Woe to this perennial refrain!
But he has a need, the Artist,
To bring upon the pain.
For far above unnoticed
He fashions beautiful mosaics
Not found in single panes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem