Everything passes, yet everything remains;
but our part is to pass,
to make our way,
to make paths upon the sea.

I have never sought
the glory
of leaving my song
in the memory of men.
I love subtle worlds,
weightless and delicate,
like soap bubbles.
I delight in seeing them
tinged with sun and crimson,
floating beneath the blue sky,
trembling,
and suddenly bursting.

I have never sought glory.

Traveller, your footprints
are the road, and nothing more;
traveller, there is no road,
the road is made by walking.

By walking, the road is made,
and when you look back,
you see the path
you will never walk again.

Traveller, there is no road,
only wakes upon the sea.

Long ago, in that place
where today the brambles grow,
the voice of a poet was heard crying:
"Traveller, there is no road,
the road is made by walking."

Step by step,
line by line...

The poet died far from home.
Covered by the dust
of a foreign land,
as he departed they heard him say:
"Traveller, there is no road,
the road is made by walking."

Step by step,
line by line...

When the goldfinch can no longer sing,
when the poet is a pilgrim,
when nothing helps us pray.
"Traveller, there is no road,
the road is made by walking."

Step by step,
line by line...

I listen to the songs
of ancient rhythms
that children sing
as they play,
songs that reveal
the dreams of their souls,
like stone fountains
revealing their water:
monotonous murmurs
of eternal laughter
that knows no joy,
of ancient weeping
that knows no sorrow,
and speaks only
of the sadness of love,
of ancient tales.

In the voices of children
the song carries
the tale in confusion,
the sorrow made clear
like clear water;
it carries the message
of an ancient love,
hidden within.

Playing beneath the shadows
of an old square,
the children were singing...

The stone fountain
poured forth forever
its crystal legend.

The children sang
their innocent songs
of things that endure
without end:
the tale in confusion,
the sorrow made clear.

The fountain,
serene,
went on with its story:
erasing the tale,
revealing the sorrow.