May our salutation be heard as is heard the worm' s hymn of thanksgiving - the worm that is cut to pieces beneath the plow, while a new springtime is dawning and the plowman draws his furrow among us worms, crushing us, that your blessings may be bestowed upon the coming generation.
But this experience was intuitive—it was the poetry within him, a gift from Heaven bestowed on him in his cradle.
"Everything has been bestowed here," said the guardian angel.
