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“A carpenter and an artist do not see the same tree”  Proverb

Thus Mozart a slave to glorious sound;
And Einstein a slave to mysteries profound,
Shakespeare a slave to sonnet and play,
And Rodin a slave to commonplace clay.

Man craves to love – nay worship
Some wond’rous being rare,
To kneel before some altar
With heart and soul stripp’d bare.

But the wax must melt ere it giveth light,
So too must the Self abate;
For only when dying to all that he is
Does a man become one with his fate.

Our greatness lies not in lauding selfs “I”
But in losing ourselves in a far greater “Why?”
For the meanest work be it never so lowly,
Transfigured by love becomes pure and holy.