my soul (herman hesse)

Posted on Sunday, August 31, 2014

Sometimes, when a bird cries out,
Or the wind sweeps through a tree,
Or a dog howls in a far off farm,
I hold still and listen a long time.

My soul turns and goes back to the place
Where, a thousand forgotten years ago,
The bird and the blowing wind
Were like me, and were my brothers.

My soul turns into a tree…


thank you, Herman Hesse, for your beautiful words

feature image provided by Pol Ledent


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