Shams, My Body Is A Candle Touched

You Moan, "she Left Me." "he Left Me," Twenty More Will Come.

Each Has To Enter The Nest Made By The Other Imperfect Bird.

The Ground Submits To The Sky And Suffers Whatever Comes. Tell Me, Is The Earth Worse For Giving In Like That?

All Is Known In The Sacredness Of Silence.

A Craftsman Pulled A Reed From The Reedbed, Cut Holes In It, And Called It A Human Being. Since Then, It's Been Wailing A Tender Agony Of Parting, Never Mentioning The Skill That Gave It Life As A Flute