Our life is shorter than flowers. Then shall we mourn? No, we shall dance Plant gardens Dress in colors And teach our children To make the world more beautiful. Because our life Is shorter than flowers.
Her eyes were kindled from the lamps of Heaven. Her voice reached through me, tender, sweet and low: An angel's voice, a music of its own. And in the center, great wings spread apart, more than a thousand festive angels shone, each one distinct in radiance, and in art.
