Last Windmill Tilting

Is truth that important,

or ignorance bliss


Your place on the Ferris Wheel,

roundly dismissed


What first must go up,

by law to come down


Gravity’s joke,

if not Heaven bound


The yes from the no,

the right from the wrong


The good from the bad,

the weak from the strong


A circular stage

on which we perform


Whose show must go on,

to laud or to scorn


But why do we wonder

and worry about


A dogmatic treatise,

 that one we can shout


The flow is unending,

catching all in its path


A current that’s ridden

by yacht and by raft


The proof’s in the pudding,

the cook still unnamed


Whose recipe seasoned,

to praise or to blame


One thing to be certain,

these words are not true


But then they’re not false,

something old—something new


(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2020)




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