.
.
The wind, one brilliant day, called
to my soul with an odor of jasmine.
.
"In return for the odor of my jasmine,
I'd like all the odor of your roses."
.
"I have no roses; all the flowers
in my garden are dead."
.
"Well then, I'll take the withered petals
and the yellow leaves and the waters of the fountain."
.
The wind left. And I wept. And I said
"What have you done with the garden that was entrusted to you ?"
.
~ Antonio Machado
(translated by Robert Bly)
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