A puzzle, a question, a riddle, an enigma
My bone of contention? What is success?
The end of our labour? Enduring life’s miasma?
Great food, wine, massive abode, fancy dress?
Tome after tome, till we’ve filled the cerebrum
As we ponder all from, from Saturn’s rings to the atom
Will all questions finally be answered by wisdom?
Or will be rest as long as the bob of a swinging pendulum?
Yesterday’s finery have become garbage
All our present knowledge will someday be folly
Then, what shall our toils yield in this age?
When we all cross the Styx? That morbid sea!
Thus stand I as always at a crossroad
Hither or thither, I will journey with this load
Still with puzzles and a mind weary from pondering them
Only succour from words of a Sage-King of Jerusalem…..