Still I wonder how it is to be a stream
From a dark well constant flowing
Winding seawards over ancient mossy wheels
Yet feel no need of knowing
Still I wonder how it is to be a tree
Circled servant to the seasons
Only drink on sky and rake the winter wind
And need no seal of reasons
Still I wonder why I wonder why I'm here
All my words just the shaft of my flail
As I race o'er this beautiful sphere
Like a dog who his chasing his --
Tailors and tinkers, princes and Incas,
Sailors and sinkers, before me and like me...
Still I wonder how it is to be a bird
Singing each dawns sweet effusions
Flying far away when all the world has stirred
Yet seek no vain conclusions
Still I wonder if I passed some time ago
As a bird, or a stream, or a tree
To mount up high you first must sink down low
Like the changeable tides of the
Caesars and Pharoahs, prophets and heroes
Poets and hobos, before me and after me all the
Painters and dancers, mountainside chancers
Merchants and gamblers, bankers and ramblers
Winners and losers, angels and boozers
Beatles and Bolans, raindrops and oceans
Kings, pawns and deacons, fainthearts and beacons
Caesars and Pharoahs, prophets and heroes
Poets and hobos, before me and after me...
