Like the blossom in a vase,
I place the stem of the smile
in my heart, to keep it fresh,
unfolding and real.
I do not tell about the Master,
lest people weary of my words.
I let the fragrance of the Master
seep through me. He glistens
on the dance of my hands in service.
Who do you think filled the vase?
Where do you think the petals
get their nectar?