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Poem	The rich and fortunate do well to keep silent, for no one cares to know who and what they are. But those in need must reveal themselves, must say: I am blind, or: I'm on the verge of going blind, or: nothing goes well with me on earth, or: I have a sickly child, or: I have little to hold me together... And chances are this is not nearly enough. And because people try to ignore them as they pass by them: these unfortunate ones have to sing! And at times one hears some excellent singing! Of course, people differ in their tastes: some would prefer to listen to choirs of boy-castrati. But God himself comes often and stays long, when the castrati's singing disturbs Him.
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