Tis strange, this change I’ve found in you,
For as often as the storm clouds shake my soul,
As keenly as the lightening strikes and the thunder roars,
I know above them the sun is always shining.
You say you changed for me?
Does an evergreen become a spruce?
Or a stone become a feather floating in the wind
For the sake of itself or the ground below it?
No, change is uniquely yours, it serves only your purpose,
And purpose is like envy, it is only yours if you say it so,
For a change in one’s nature is like telling the scorpion not to sting,
Or a bird not to fly, or the for breeze not to gently cool your brow.
The Change you say is not really change at all,
Either it is or it isn’t, it cannot be created, it cannot be destroyed,
It is, or it isn’t, it was or it wasn’t
the Truth behind the way things are.