With your roots

Deep down in the enchanted soil

of the Mother's womb;

With your trunk

Rising upright

Through the flying air

of the Father's mind;

And with your branches,

Though entangled and cramped

Inside a tiny globe of bone,

Yet grown beyond the reach

of the wandering stars,

You are a tree.

Let your fragrant Springs

Blossom in the smiles of your lonely eyes,

And make my still dawn throb

With the hope of another miracle of rain;

Let your ripened Summers

Fall in the apples of your glowing words,

And awaken my despairing hunger

For the taste of another resurrection of Truth.

Hate is only a cold breath of those

For whom death exists

And means eternal curse.

Do not tremble like a nasturtium

In the Autumn wind;

War is only a dying spark

From the idle, clapping hands

Of those who have never sipped

The divine wine of Life.

Do not lament over the Future

Like a delirious epileptic

In an apocalyptic Winter.

Look at your glorious image

In the mirror of infinity;

The sun is holding a candle.

Do not wait until the dawn,

You may forget your dream

When you wake in the eternal Morning.