A new thing, yet another new thing comes,
And therein them that I seek what is in me,
But herein me that ye seek them in thee,
Blessed are them that is true to them of thee,
Oh, riddle, what it can offer thee of thine thoughts,
When it awaits for thee for a thousand years?
I long for my own that waits for my near,
That long be in hence of the coming.
© Ismael Mansoor