The Gardener 84: Futile songs
Over the green and yellow rice-fields sweep the shadows of the autumn clouds followed by the swift chasing sun. The bees forget to sip their honey; Drunken with light they foolishly hover and hum. The ducks in the islands of the river clamour in joy for mere nothing. Let none go back home, brothers, this morning, let none go to work. Let us take the blue sky by storm and plunder space as we run. Laughter floats in the air like foam on the flood. Brothers, let us squander our morning in futile songs.