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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 spent 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.
孩子，你真是快活呀，一早晨坐在泥土里，耍着折下来的小树枝儿。
我微笑地看你在那里耍着小枝的碎梗。
我正忙着算账，一小时一小时在那里加叠数字。
也许你在看我，想道：“这种好没趣的游戏，竟把你的一早晨的好时间夺去了！”
孩子，我忘了聚精会神耍枝子与泥饼的方法了。
我找出贵重的玩具，收集起金块，银块。
你呢，无论找到什么便去做你的快乐的游戏，我呢，却把了我的时间与力气都费在那些我永不能得到的东西上。
我在我的脆薄的独木船里，奋勉地航过欲望之海，竟忘了我也是在那里做游戏了。