Is Your Face A Beautiful Blossom Or

When I Am Silent, I Fall Into The Place Where Everything Is Music.

How Will You Know The Difficulties Of Being Human, If You Are Always Flying Off To Blue Perfection? Where Will You Plant Your Grief Seeds? Workers Need Ground To Scrape And Hoe, Not The Sky Of Unspecified Desire.

Everything That Is Made Beautiful And Fair And Lovely Is Made For The Eye Of One Who Sees.

Every Fragile Beauty, Every Perfect Forgotten Sentence, You Grieve Their Going Away, But That Is Not How It Is. Where They Come From Never Goes Dry. It Is An Always Flowing Spring.

Is Your Face A Beautiful Blossom Or A Sweet Torture? I Have No Complaints But My Heart Is Tempted To Let You Hear Of Its Sorrows.