Sure of his footing, the owl hoots his hymn.
What is the worry of the rich?
Who gets the bird in the end of the hunt?
But who goes hunting for birds?
What is the challenge of the stunning?
But who is their friendly barber?
What is that which we jump into the air to hear?
Is it news from afar or is it wealth that we wanted?
Does the miser wake at dawn with his suitcase in his hand;
Or is it the beggar who wakes without his calling card for tomorrow?
Who is to blame when the wicked buy their children a sunbeam for the future?
I sense that the evil doers congregate in the alleyways of the timebombs of animosity.
Where is the method that builds our homes from our education and merit?
Say to the witch, you are a cauldron spiller.
Say to the bear, you have forsaken your screams!
Say to the indigent, there is a place for you in the hallways of the tempest.
But drive the tasteful to a new home tomorrow and today.
It is always a blessing to watch over your young.
But it is never a mitzvah to call for a new bearing on your birthday in the silence of your tribulation.
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