Let your little perturbations slip into the pond Where glowing fish wonder what happened nearby. Let the ferns near my border grow healthy and wise While thinking of summertimes spent in your eyes While thinking of summertimes spent in your eyes.
I would write on the lintels of the door-post, Whim.
Whim after all is a whim; and, by its very nature, it is such that “why—wherefore—when” can find no place in its nature. A whim may come at any moment; it may come now or after a few months or after years, and it may not come at all.
- Meher Baba
Forget about your silly whim / It doesn't fit the plan!