In fleeting nights when you awake in doubt You're nothing more in life but a withered leaf, Yet, endless twirls keep you away from grief: Someday you tumble lower, someday higher, Failing to grasp, what are these flaps about? Is this the way one really seeks to live?
I gather others' bliss in shallow myths, I read these parts of happiness aloud, But inner voice that keeps my spirit sound Suggests a truthful blab as good as lying, Where are the perfect mates -- Adam and Eve?
If someone sees them, could you point them out? I'm looking for a chap with a missing rib. |