Time is endless in thy hands, my lord. There is none to count thy minutes. Days and nights pass and ages bloom and fade like flowers. Thou knowest how to wait... At the end of the day I hasten in fear lest thy gate be shut; but I find that yet there is time.
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All things speak to me. Now this color, now that shape. Now the clear call of the loon. The forest sees me coming And each tree says, "Look at me. See, I reveal the Beautiful." . . .