So much thought, yet can’t discern
Where careless ends and starts concern
Where answers rise to questions yearn
Where faces are less stern
All these cycles – still I turn
A well spring empty – still I burn
So am I ash, or just the urn?
And will I ever learn?
So much effort – less I earn
Where sympathy defects to spurn
And oft I wonder, “Why return?
Best not we just adjourn?”
All these years – to each attorn
With sailess ship, I stand at stern
And mapless lost in this sojourn
Where questions endless churn