The leaf tips bend under the weight of dew. Fruits are ripening in Earth's early morning. Daffodils light up in the sun. The curtain of cloud at the gateway of the garden path begins to shift: have pity for childhood, the way of illusion. Late at night, the candle gutters. In some distant desert, a flower opens. And somewhere else, a cold aster that never knew a cassava patch or gardens of areca palms, never knew the joy of life, at that instant disappears- man's eternal yearning. ~Thich Nhat Hanh
