I do not find a single comrade in the garden yet;
For springtime is approaching and I am an early rose.
I look at myself in the mirror of the rivulet,
Creating a companion through this self-deluding pose.
The pen that Destiny employed in writing Being’s scroll
Inscribed a message on my leaves for everyone to read.
My heart is with the past; my eye is on the present’s roll.
A prophet of the future, I proclaim the future’s creed.
I sprang up out of dust and I assumed a rose’s robe;
But am, in fact, the Pleiad that was lost in the blue globe.