Gibran

Once I filled my hand with mist
Then opened it and lo, the mist was a worm.

And closed and opened my hand again, and behold there was a bird.

And again I closed and opened my hand, and in its hollow stood a man with sad face, turned upward.

And again I closed my hand, and when I opened it there was naught but mist.
But I heard a song of exceeding sweetness

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