I have not been myself lately, said the wind. Nor I, said the mountain.
The shepherd boy, who had been listening, took up his flute.
When he was an old man, he put it down again and died.
And the wind rushed, and the mountain blushed, to the depths of the canyon.
I said to my mother, I said to my father, “I have nothing to do.” To which they wisely replied, “Do nothing, then.” And so I did. I did nothing as I wandered past the orange tree. I did nothing as I walked between two long vineyard rows. I did nothing as I plucked the buds from wild chamomile. I did nothing so well, paradise smiled. And I am doing nothing now.
Recently Banned Literature, April 4, 2018
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