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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