What am I? Who am I? Why am I?
Questions unanswered won't defy
A probing, persistent, hungry eye,
Lest the soul, without thought, faith deny.
Of the earth from my birth, made of clay
Reproduced by design the same way,
Every man, spanked to life his first day,
In time, has a stage to act his play.
Not of earth, spirit born, this being
Never dies, though it flies, unseeing,
To and fro, flitting as if fleeing,
Since pensive summations, are freeing.
Of the earth, yet not earth, raises doubt
Unless both. The Spirit's house no route
Elsewhere, but a planned home to live out
Time on earth, til heaven makes its shout.
--Baron Gooberacht von Hottzendog
copyright 1998, The Goober Tree Press, all rights reserved