So it is with the lame as it is with the blind...
anywhere's too far and impossible to find.
For who can rewrite, or tred back in time?
Down the paths, down life's dippy roads,
where once all ran to a walk, all slowed...
What purpose, what motive has this mystery showed?
Think! The answers to the questions asked!
Why Mountains are mined,
their treasures trashed...?
Why sound is silent or first is last?
What meaning, this mystery, itself concealed...
Only wanting conversions, the hollow unfilled...
And where it is hidden, can it be revealed?
No, cry I, from my spot in the dark,
One sees the flame, birthed of...