We are all puppets Of the great cosmic designer, The one who fills the morning suns With cups of yellow golden sunshine And the one who chimes and shimmers In the silver moon of the starry nights. We are all puppets Of the great cosmic kite-flyer The one, at whose fingertips Fly the kites of all colours and shapes. We are all puppets Of the great cosmic musician At whose rhythms do we pulsate Like strings of a guitar Like keys of a piano. We are all puppets Of the great cosmic painter Who paints in lush green The crisp needles of leaves And the blades of the grass thin Who paints the curtains of butterflies and the rings of rainbows… We are all puppets Of the great cosmic sculptor At whose fingertips, Does clay models itself And the mud vases fill their moulds. We are all puppets Of the magnificent cosmic magician At the spell of whose wand Shimmers the wave tips, At the ver...