To melt and be like a running brook
	That sings its melody to the night.
	To know the pain of too much tenderness.
	To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
	And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
	To wake at dawn with a winged heart
	And give thanks for another day of loving;
	To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;
	To return home at eventide with gratitude;
	And then to sleep with a prayer
	For the beloved in your heart
	And a song of praise upon your lips. Kahlil Gibran My meditative observations: