You made me endless
this is your will.
This fragile vessel continuously
you continually fill empty
life ever new.
This small reed flute
you brought to the hills and valleys have blown through it
melodies eternally new.
When I touch your hands immortal
this little heart is lost in a boundless joy unspeakable
and sings the tune. On these small
hands down your infinite gifts.
go by age, and you continue to pay
and there is still space to fill.
(R. Tagore - from "Gitanjali)
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