ਇਸ ਸਫ਼ੇ ਦੀ ਪਰੂਫ਼ਰੀਡਿੰਗ ਕੀਤੀ ਗਈ ਹੈ
THE KIKAR TREE.
I grow upward, my march is
heavenward,
My face is turned to the God of
the skies !
Nor village, nor city, nor palace,
nor hut I need in this world of
thine,
I am he who can pass his days
without a roof over his head, in
rain, sunshine, hail and storm.
I love to look at the God of the
skies. I need but a small piece of ground
for my roots to stand in, to
blossom, bear fruit and die !
I need neither raiment nor food
from thee, O world !
The rain-water is enough for me;
I drink and I grow !
I live on air, I desire naught,
I am all alone in myself; the
ascetic of centuries passed and
the ascetic of the centuries yet
to come !
And yet for me, O world ! thou
hast but an axe !
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