We who know so little on the Earth so vast,
What is future, what is past
What is good news and what is bad,
In the life of the Yang and the Yin,
Fusing Hamlet together again.
Is everything gain or lost,
Fortune and misfortune,
Good or bad, happy or sad,
Or the consequence of the flowers
In the garden behind the fence?
a source so simple
penned the wellspring of words
a painted fable upon the fields
of the king who tried to make the Sun
for those blind to the honest beauty of the stars
and put the stars into order
for them to understand
the mountains refuse to move
it is their last stand
against submitting to be owned by man
So tree and lake and fountain
tall and deep and flowing
the sea is silent, the ice is melting
the aim of fury is clear
shall the earth endure
invites the sea
or be done, sunk, and swallowed amid oceans
full of new, and difficult emotions
We are the garden cancer
Upon the bird
Upon the flower
Upon the mountain
Upon the sea
We have taken many forms
And spread our disease
Upon the ice-fields
upon the glacier snow
Upon the quaking ground
Where the hollow children go.