197
By touching you may kill, by keeping away you may possess.

198
The cricket's chirp and the patter of rain come to me through the
dark, like the rustle of dreams from my past youth.

199
"I have lost my dewdrop," cries the flower to the morning sky
that has lost all its stars.

200
The burning log bursts in flame and cries,--"This is my flower,
my death."

201
The wasp thinks that the honey-hive of the neighbouring bees is
too small.
His neighbours ask him to build one still smaller.

202
"I cannot keep your waves," says the bank to the river.

"Let me keep your footprints in my heart."

203
The day, with the noise of this little earth, drowns the silence
of all worlds.