He Who Loses His Mother Loses A

Your Clothes Conceal Much Of Your Beauty, Yet They Hide Not The Unbeautiful.

They Deem Me Mad Because I Will Not Sell My Days For Gold; And I Deem Them Mad Because They Think My Days Have A Price.

You Would Know The Secret Of Death. But How Shall You Find It Unless You Seek It In The Heath Of Life? The Owl Whose Night-bound Eyes Are Blind Unto The Day Cannot Unveil The Mystery Of Light. If You Would Indeed Behold The Spirit Of Death, Open Your Heart Wide Unto The Body Of Life. For Life And Death Are One, Even As The River And Sea Are One. For What Is It To Die But To Stand Naked In The Wind And To Melt Into The Sun?

It Is Not The Image You Would See Nor The Song You Would Hear, But Rather An Image You See Though You Close Your Eyes And A Song You Hear Though You Shut Your Ears.

You Would Measure Time The Measureless And The Immeasurable. You Would Adjust Your Conduct And Even Direct The Course Of Your Spirit According To Hours And Seasons. Of Time You Would Make A Stream Upon Whose Bank You Would Sit And Watch Its Flowing.