A pandeistic poem

And they say that rocks have a soul
And rivers moonlight ecstasies.
But flowers, if they felt anything, wouldn’t be flowers,
They would be people;
And if rocks had a soul, they would be living things, not rocks;
And if rivers had moonlight ecstasies,
Rivers would be sick men.
Only if you don’t know what flowers and rocks and rivers are
Can you talk about their feelings.
To talk about the soul of rocks, and flowers, and rivers,
Is to talk about ourselves and our fake thoughts.
Thank god rocks are only rocks,
And that rivers are but rivers,
And flowers nothing more than flowers.
I, myself, write the prose of my verses
And I’m happy
Because I know I understand Nature from the outside;
And don’t understand it from the inside
Because Nature has no inside;
Or it would not be Nature.

(By Fernando Pessoa, writing as Alberto Caeiro)