If these fingers touched ink, let what flows be untainted and true; unsmeared and sure.
If these hands mould clay, let what is made be sturdy. Be uncracked, unblemished and smooth like porcelain.
If this body pivots upon legs, let it stand upright and tall. So no wind could fell it down. But should it topple, let no earth will it shatter.
If this mind invites another, let no thought nor idea adulterate its own... For its ways may wind and meander, but it is obstinate.
If this heart still beats, no matter how faint... Let its rhythm be steady and unrelenting. So it might echo through long days and moonless nights to find others like it.