Last Windmill Tilting

Is truth that important, or ignorance bliss Your place on the Ferris Wheel, roundly dismissed What first must go up, by law to come down Gravity’s joke, if not Heaven bound The yes from the no, the right from the wrong The good from the bad, the weak from the strong A circular stage on which we perform Whose show must go on, to laud or to scorn But why do we wonder and worry about A dogmatic treatise, that one we can shout The flow is unending, catching all in its path A current that’s ridden by yacht and by raft The proof’s in the pudding, the cook still unnamed Whose recipe seasoned, to praise or to blame One thing to be certain, these words are not true But then they’re not false, something old—something new (Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2020)