Do not imagine that the work of the Wine-maker is complete.
With unknown quantities of undrunk wine the vine is still replete.
The garden is a happy place, but you cannot survive as buds
In it for long; the breeze will come and tear your being’s robe to shreds.
If you possess the faintest knowledge of life’s awesome mystery,
Then do not seek a heart entirely free from longing’s agony.
Be like a mountain, grave and lofty, with your native dignity,
And not like straw. Beware, there is a wildfire raging savagely.