I plucked an apple; the apple was sour.
I threw it away, and picked a flower.
The flower was withered, faded its scent;
I wondered within me what Nature meant.
I looked at the grasses’ waving sheen
But I knew a swam lay under the green.
I saw a cottage in ruins lie,
And through its beams the bright morning sky.
I trudged the long road, covered with dust,
Thoughts of all beauty from my mind thrust.
I gathered a rose and felt the sharp thorn;
A butterfly lay, wings crushed and torn.
I looked for the signs and found them each one,
For my thoughts were evil, my heart a stone!
31. 1. 1928