I asked a seed, “How do you know when spring arrives?” When my paintbrush first dips into green, I know spring is about to come. I asked a stream, “How do you know where you’re flowing?” When I look at my tail, I know where my end will be. “But I’ve forgotten where my paintbrush is,” the seed said. “Can you help me find it?” “Of course!” So I buried the seed in the soil of the yard. ...
Youth By samuel Ullman Youth is not a time of life; it is a state of mind; it is not a matter of rosy cheeks, red lips and supple knees; it is a matter of the will, a quality of the imagination, a vigor of the emotions; it is the freshness of the deep springs of life. Youth means a temperamental predominance of courage over timidity of the appetite, for adventure over the love of ease. This often exists in a man of sixty more than a boy of twenty. Nobody grows old merely by a number of years. We grow old by deserting our ideals. ...
Stray birds of summer come to my window sing and fly away. And the leaves of autumn, which have no songs, flutter and fall there with a sigh. O troupe of little vagrants of the world, leave your footprints in my words. The worlds puts off its mask of vastness to its lover. It becomes small, as one song, as one kiss of the eternal. It is the tears of the earth that keep her smiles in bloom. ...