A P R A Y E R
My invocations are sincere and true,
They form my ablutions and prayers due.
One glance of guide such joy and warmth can
On marge of stream can bloom the tulip plant.
One has no comrade on Love's journey long
Save fervent zeal, and passion great and strong.
O God, at gates of rich I do not bow,
You are my dwelling place and nesting bough.
Your Love in my breast burns like Doomsday
The cry, He is God, on my lips is born.