飞鸟集03

I sit at my window this morning where the world like a passer-by stops for a moment, nods to me and goes.

There little thoughts are the rustle of leaves; they have their whisper of joy in my mind.

What you are you do not see, what you see is your shadow.

My wishes are fools, they shout across thy song, my Master. Let me but listen.

I cannot choose the best. The best chooses me.