The Wind, One Brilliant Day

The wind, one brilliant day, called

To my soul with an odor of jasmine.

In return for the odor of my jasmine,

I’d like all the odor of your roses.

I have no roses; all the flowers

in my garden are dead.

Well then, I’ll take the withered petals

and the yellow leaves and the waters of the fountain.

The wind left. And I wept. And I said to myself:

What have you done with the garden that was entrusted to you?