Analysis of Playthings

Child, how happy you are sitting in the dust, playing with a broken twig all the morning.
    I smile at your play with that little bit of a broken twig.
    I am busy with my accounts, adding up figures by the hour.
    Perhaps you glance at me and think, "What a stupid game to spoil your morning with!"
    Child, I have forgotten the art of being absorbed in sticks and mud-pies.
    I seek out costly playthings, and gather lumps of gold and silver.
    With whatever you find you create your glad games, I spend both my time and my strength over things I never can obtain.
    In my frail canoe I struggle to cross the sea of desire, and forget that I too am playing a game.