“LIFE”
Man, thrust upon the world, awakes from sleep,
Knowing not whence he came nor how nor why.
His earliest impulse is an infant cry,
His final privilege is that to weep.
A combatant although he sought no strife,
A guest unwelcome come unwillingly,
Given his vision that he may not see,
He names this unnamed paradox his life.
He learns to walk the forest and to love
Its green and brown, its song and season’s change,
Yet will not taste a berry that is strange
Or tread a pathway that he knows not of.
Skeptic and doubter of the flow’r and tree,
He questions this and that investigates—
Yet drinks the beaker offered by the fates
And leaves unsolved the greater mystery.