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You have made me endless
such is your pleasure.
This frail vessel
you empty
again and again,
and fill it ever
with fresh life.
This little flute of a reed
you have carried
over hills and dales
And have breathed
through it
melodies eternally new.
At the immortal touch
of your hands
my little heart loses
its limits in joy and
gives birth to
utterance ineffable.
Your infinite gifts
come to me only
on these very small
hands of mine.
Ages pass and still
you pour, and still
there is room to fill....
Rabindranath Tagore
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