What world is this I float upon,
And how did I so come upon it?
I asked my father what he knew,
But I’m not so sure he’s been beyond it.

I asked a friend to please expound
About this place so blue and round.
But he just told me what he’d seen
From him no more could be gleaned.

I asked an ancient, white haired mystic,
He said so much I must have missed it.
The answer he so broadly spoke
It seemed to me but half a joke.

I asked a brilliant man of letters.
He told me I would be much better
If I would just not ask such things
And concentrate on what life brings.

But it seemed to me that life brings death
And though I tried to stop that thought
No matter how much more I learned,
I never could like death a lot.