Am at chapter 20maybe the last page of my book.
After each chapter I think I am out of ideas
As I feel the door of my heart is closed fast And the cells of my mind are shut out tight And I would not be able to write anything any more;
Then comes the rest and I start thinking again And my thinking this time moves round a question And that question is:
If I can breathe that means I am alive And if I am alive that means I have a life
And life is like a flute and it could never be out of tune;
Or a pond could never be out of ripples Nor could an ocean be out of waves
And life is no less than both of them So I j ust blow a bit of air or throw a little stone
And a new wave of a new tune immediately breaks forth In delight I sit and compose a chapter for you to read.
