PLAYTHINGS
Child，how happy you are sitting in the dust，playing with a broken twig all the morning．
I smile at your play with that little bit of a broken twig．
I am busy with my accounts，adding up figures by the hour．
Perhaps you glance at me and think，“What a stupid game to spoil your morning with！”
Child，I have forgotten the art of being absorbed in sticks and mud-pies．
I seek out costly playthings，and gather lumps of gold and silver．
With whatever you find you create your glad games，I spend both my time and my strength over things I never can obtain．
In my frail canoe I struggle to cross the sea of desire，and forget that I too am playing a game．
