COME FRIEND, flinch not, step down upon the hard earth.
Do not gather dreams in the dusk.
Storms are brewing in the sky, lightning flashes are striking at our sleep.
Come down to the common life.
The web of illusion is torn, take shelter within walls of rough stones.

I AM HERE TO sing thee songs. In this hall of thine I have a corner seat.
In thy world I have no work to do; my useless life can only break out in tunes without a purpose.
When the hour strikes for thy silent worship at the dark temple of midnight, command me, my master, to stand before thee to sing.
When in the morning air the golden harp is tuned, honour me, commanding my presence.

THE PICTURE a memory of light
treasured by the shadow.