Take the brush from the painter,
You destroy her soul.

Take the music from the dancer,
You destroy her rhythm.

Take the spice from the chef,
You destroy her palate.

But take the dream from the dreamer,
You destroy a nation— the essence of her being!

By the sea, by the dreary, darkening sea,
Stands a youthful man,
His heart all sorrowing, his head all doubting,
And with gloomy lips he questions the billows:
[...]
The billows are murmuring their murmur unceasing,
Wild blows the wind, the dark clouds are fleeting.
The stars are still gleaming, so calmly and cold,
And a fool waits for an answer.

Heinrich Heine, Questioning from the North Sea cycle

It’s not that
I don’t care
I’ve just learned
the value of my care