A body is given me – what am I to make
From this thing that is my own and is unique
Tell me who it is I must thank for giving
The quiet joy of breathing and living?
I am the gardener, the flower as well,
Never alone in the world’s prison cell.
My warmth, my breathing have already lain
Upon eternity’s window pane.
Imprinted on the glass a pattern shows,
But nowadays a pattern no one knows.
Let the dregs of the moment drain away –
The pattern’s loveliness must stay