CHILD, how happy you are sitting in
the dust, playing with a broken twig
all the morning.
I smile at your play with that little bit
of a broken twig.
I am busy with my accounts, adding up
figures by the hour.
Perhaps you glance at me and think,
"What a stupid game to spoil your morning
Child, I have forgotten the art of being
absorbed in sticks and mud-pies.
I seek out costly playthings, and gather
lumps of gold and silver.
With whatever you find you create your
glad games, I spend both my time and my
strength over things I never can obtain.
In my frail canoe I struggle to cross the
sea of desire, and forget that I too am playing