I am a waning bird
encased in a glass sphere;
I cannot see my prison,
and my cries no one can hear.

The winged beasts and angels know, that mortals cannot fly.
But how I flew to see the sun; a broken bird am I.

A pebble thrown in a pool
may ripple from end to end,
but tossed into the sea,
it is swallowed by enormity.

Yes, there is no good pretending, it is hard to leave everything.

Ninety-two percent of back pain resolves in two months.

The bird, the bee, the running child are all the same to the sliding glass door.