Love Is Every Bit As

There Is Nothing Like Being Left Alone Again, To Walk Peacefully With Oneself In The Woods. To Boil One's Coffee And Fill One's Pipe, And To Think Idly And Slowly As One Does It.

There Was A Rock In Front Of My Hut, A Tall, Gray Rock. By Its Looks It Seemed To Be Well-disposed Toward Me.

But Now It Was Spring Again, And Spring Was Almost Unbearable For Sensitive Hearts. It Drove Creation To Its Utmost Limits, It Wafted Its Spice-laden Breath Even Into The Nostrils Of The Innocent.

In Old Age We Are Like A Batch Of Letters That Someone Has Sent. We Are No Longer In The Past, We Have Arrived.

And Love Became The World's Origin And The World's Ruler, Yet Littered Its Path Is With Flowers And Blood, Flowers And Blood.