Learn to bear pain.

It’s the shortest path to silence From there you will rise again To taste passion’s fruit.

Pray not to make this season short, Its length is not measured in time But the depth to which the plow has to go.

Have the seed ready at hand And be willing to fall down on your knees To pull out of the soil, overgrown weeds.

This is necessary work, not as much as resisting Nature massing at the edge of your clearing As letting the spring sun shine equally on the husks.

So even if you make to depart or escape Into wine or the woods, nothing would stop you. The land will continue to wait, with it’s secret of bread

For you to harvest and break, From the necessary good crop, The bliss and the ecstasy!