Saturday, December 13, 2008
Your flowers are sounding like snow,
Their bells chime like the wind,
With this noise is advertised a beauty and kindness
To man the society of friends.
A fellowship of all health can cry out,
The customary feelings shall be felt;
There is a creek in the blindness,
Declaring spirits of joy as well.
My flowers stay still, staying this way is clear,
For we keep quiet, like the sun, careless
In our actions, until the wind moves our hearts
On the occasion, when we are broken.