دوست من سلام:

زیباترین حرفت را بگو گنجه پنهان سکوت را آشکار کن و هراس مدار از اینکه بگویند ترانه ای بیهوده می خوانی چرا که ترانه ما ترانه بیهودگی نیست چرا که عشق حرفی بیهوده نیست.

مرگ آهسته

اگر سفر نکنی ؛

اگر چیزی نخوانی ؛

 اگر به اصوات زندگی گوش ندهی ؛

اگر از خودت قدردانی نکنی

زمانیکه خودباوری را در خودت بکشی ؛

وقتی نگذاری دیگران به تو کمک کنند

اگر برده عادات خود شوی ؛

اگر همیشه از یک راه تکراری بروی ؛

 اگر روز مرگی را تغییر ندهی اگر رنگهای متفاوت به تن نکنی ؛

 یا اگر با افراد ناشناس صحبت نکنی

اگر از شور و حرارت ؛ از احساسات سرکش ؛

و از چیزهایی که چشمانت را به درخشش وا می دارند و ضربان قلبت را تندتر می کنند ؛ دوری کنی

اگر هنگامیکه با شغلت یا عشقت شاد نیستی ؛ آنرا عوض نکنی

اگر برای مطمئن در نامطمئن خطر نکنی ؛

اگر ورای رویاها نروی

اگر به خودت اجازه ندهی که حداقل یکبار در تمام زندگیت ورای مصلحت اندیشی بروی
« تو به آرامی آغاز به مردن می کنی »

پس امروز زندگی را آغاز کن ؛

 امروز مخاطره کن ؛

 امروز کاری بکن ؛

 نگذار که به آرامی بمیری ؛

 شادی را فراموش نکن .

Mending Wall

Something there is that doesn't love a wall, That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it, And spills the upper boulders in the sun; And makes gaps even two can pass abreast. The work of hunters is another thing: I have come after them and made repair Where they have left not one stone on a stone, But they would have the rabbit out of hiding, To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean, No one has seen them made or heard them made, But at spring mending-time we find them there. I let my neighbor know beyond the hill; And on a day we meet to walk the line And set the wall between us once again. We keep the wall between us as we go. To each the boulders that have fallen to each. And some are loaves and some so nearly balls We have to use a spell to make them balance: 'Stay where you are until our backs are turned!' We wear our fingers rough with handling them. Oh, just another kind of outdoor game, One on a side. It comes to little more: There where it is we do not need the wall: He is all pine and I am apple orchard. My apple trees will never get across And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him. He only says, 'Good fences make good neighbors.' Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder If I could put a notion in his head: 'Why do they make good neighbors? Isn't it Where there are cows? But here there are no cows. Before I built a wall I'd ask to know What I was walling in or walling out, And to whom I was like to give offense. Something there is that doesn't love a wall, That wants it down.' I could say 'Elves' to him, But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather He said it for himself. I see him there Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed. He moves in darkness as it seems to me, Not of woods only and the shade of trees. He will not go behind his father's saying, And he likes having thought of it so well He says again, 'Good fences make good neighbors.' (Robert Frost)