I know not where this winding road would end;
Some wayfarer’s sure sense of the road
Had this sea of green part in twain.
I know not how this flight of clouds would end:
In tears or in peace made up? It matters
Not if some good came out of rain.
I know not where our best selves would end:
Some for coinage exchanged; ideals unseen
Took wings while we held to bullion?
I know not if life did with death end:
What is mortal, in tatters we lay aside;
Press on ad infinitum with what remain?
benny
