PLAYTHINGS

Child，how happy you are sitting in the dust，playing with a broken twig all the morning．

I smile at your play with that little bit of a broken twig．

I am busy with my accounts，adding up figures by the hour．

Perhaps you glance at me and think，“What a stupid game to spoil your morning with！”

Child，I have forgotten the art of being absorbed in sticks and mud-pies．

I seek out costly playthings，and gather lumps of gold and silver．

With whatever you find you create your glad games，I spend both my time and my strength over things I never can obtain．

In my frail canoe I struggle to cross the sea of desire，and forget that I too am playing a game．