When we are born,
we are soft and supple.
But when we've parished
there's no more tenderness
to be cherished.
When plants are young,
they are pliable and fragile.
When they die,
as they lose their green,
they wither and dry.
The sharp sword and knife
tryst always with death,
while love without strife
is an ever devoted
disciple of life.
An inflexible army
seals its own fate.
When a tree branch grows brittle,
it easily snaps,
whether long or little.
Wherever you go,
the rigid lie low.
While the weightless in the sky,
and all that is gentle,
fly boundlessly high.
“The Tao Te Ching, A New Translation”
By: Ralph Alan Dale
ISBN: 0-7607-4998-1