Folly

Who creates and who destroys?

The sun in the day,

The weeds in the garden, 

The wind breezing between the flowers,

The friend and the foe,

For these are heaven and hell, 

How I hold these in my bosom,

How I desire to be free from my sins,

How I desire to hold anger towards my foe, 

How I wish to blame others for my faults.

Then the sweet voice whispers,

"It is all illusion,"

 

For this is the highest folly of man is:

To believe heaven and hell are outside of him.