A leaf upon a cloak of leaves on an autumn morning.
A leaf, a sound of broken branch, a white cloud on the azure profile of the sky
The mystery of the eternal knowledge has no name that contains it
It hides in the wind, It hides in the flowing water, It hides in the flap of wings of the falcon that soars over the prairie. I am the wind I am the flowing water I am the flap of wings
The morning frost Is at one with the dew.
|