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 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 A GAME.

    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

      to am playing a game.