Every morning br the world br is created. br Under the orange br br sticks of the sun br the heaped br ashes of the night br turn into leaves again br br and fasten themselves to the high branches --- br and the ponds appear br like black cloth br on which are painted islands br br of summer lilies. br If it is your nature br to be happy br you will swim away along the soft trails br br for hours, your imagination br alighting everywhere. br And if your spirit br carries within it br br the thorn br that is heavier than lead --- br if it's all you can do br to keep on trudging --- br br there is still br somewhere deep within you br a beast shouting that the earth br is exactly what it wanted --- br br each pond with its blazing lilies br is a prayer heard and answered br lavishly, br every morning, br br whether or not br you have ever dared to be happy, br whether or not br you have ever dared to pray.