Your voice and your footsteps fall soft as dew on my
working day.
Where I sit there is spring in the air around me from your
living warmth.
You flower in my thought, you flower in my blood, and I
wonder only
that my happy hands do not blossom into heavy roses.
Now the space of the everyday closes around us two, like a
soft, gentle mist.
Are you afraid of becoming a prisoner, are you afraid of
drowning in the greyness?
Do not be afraid: in the everyday's innermost depth,
in the heart of all life,
there burns with quietly humming flames a deep, secret
festival.
For more information, please visit the website of David McDuff and his own pages with the translations.