Cycle

I ask you something strange.

Give it a moment’s thought.

Where do we go from hence

And where do we go naught?

Pull down from the sky

The man in the moon.

Place him in a hole

Dug to be his tomb.

Would the ocean flood,

Cover all the land?

Or would the tide go

Shrinking off the sand?

If you plunk a beam

Near the noonday sun

And Bind it to stones

Where creeks overrun

Would the color glow

Rainbow ripples through?

Would greenish water

Infuse bluish hue?

Take the tree of youth,

Turn leaf ‘neath the dirt,

Would roots grow upward?

Tender limbs be hurt?

Is nature to bruise

Or to be our guide?

Should man go his way

Or move with the tide?

Life’s a mountain road.

We climb to the top

To slip down mossy

Slides to sudden stop.

Can we reach that height

We fight to obtain?

Or solve the problem

Of our mountain lane?

Think this foggy thought,

Never to be clear:

We must get to there.

We cannot stay here.