People with death in their eyes are swept along
by the rushing violence of the waterfall of time
But he who has seen eternity even once
let us say in a flash of the sun in a dew-drop on
the wing of a passing bird Such a one
leafes through the book of his life at leisure
Sometimes the bird comes to sit on his shoulder

Time ripens us like fruit
Only the ripening is painful
The being eaten is a joy
It is the joy of having become
The joy of the Eaten and the Eater
Finally come together