Those who live with integrity are like
a garden in full bloom,
whose blossoms beautify the earth.
They are planted in the dwelling place
of Love,
their produce nourishes those
who pass by.
All through their lives they produce
bountiful harvests,
overflowing as a cornucopia of
the finest fruits,
Magnifying the Loving and Gracious Creator,
living as sons and daughters
of the Most High.
Problems insoluble and problems offering
their own ignored solutions
jostle for my attention, they crowd its antechamber
along with a host of diversions, my courtiers, wearing
their colored clothes; caps and bells.
And then
once more the quiet mystery
is present to me, the throng's clamor
recedes: the mystery
that there is anything, anything at all,
let alone cosmos, joy, memory, everything,
rather than void: and that, O Lord,
Creator, Hallowed one, You still,
hour by hour sustain it.