Bài số 69 69

69

Let my song be simple as the waking in the morning, as the dripping of dew from the leaves,
Simple as the colours in clouds and showers of rain in the midnight.
But my lute strings are newly strung and they dart their notes like spears sharp in their newness.
Thus they miss the spirit of the wind and hurt the light of the sky; and these strains of my songs fight hard to push back thy own music.