An ashtree on fire,the hair of your headcoaxing larkswith your sweet voicein the green grass,a crowd of daisiesplaying with you,
a crowd of rabbitsdancing with you,the blackbirdwith its gold billis a jewel for you,the goldfinchwith its sweetnessis your music.
You are perfume,you are honey,a wild strawberry:even the bees think youa flower in the field
Little queen of the land of books,may you be always thus,may you ever be freefrom sorrow-chains.Here’s my blessing for you, girl,it is no petty grace –may you have your mother’s souland the beauty of her face.
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