The CLOD & the PEBBLE by William Blake





02 Love seeketh not Itself to please,

03 Nor for itself hath any care;

04 But for another gives its ease.

05 And builds a Heaven in Hells despair.





06 So sang a little Clod of Clay,

07 Trodden with the cattles feet:

08 But a Pebble of the brook,

09 Warbled out these metres meet.





10 Love seeketh only Self to please,

11 To bind another to its delight:

12 Joys in anothers loss of ease,

13 And builds a Hell in Heavens despite.





I stared myself in the mirror of this and saw a pebble, pretty and selfish.



I loved to possess and keep for the rest of my life that I might have bliss.



Mid-morning sunshine, and away from here.



Listening is a struggle to me and learning to do it was and still is an upward climb. I can't believe how un-instinctive it is for me; I have no big capacity to love whatsoever.



But I started somewhere and my selfish love is still now a memory. I have no desire to resurrect the object of my love to make it unselfish even.



Because of this I have become happy.



Now the only thing that sucks is my job at the bank...