Like answers to questions unasked.
They lean on lamp-posts in whipping wind,
They shiver and raise their collars high.
Ah, but the humble query –
How to plane a knotty board,
Or the grade of oil in your crankshaft,
The tie to wear or not to wear,
Or the perfume to prize on that crucial date.
Those are really and readily asked
And never retire unanswered, not
Like quote What is Truth? Unquote.
That ultimate queasy question
Was left unanswered then,
Which allows me sans aggression
To ask it once again:
If space be finite and time is short,
If love be bartered as well as sought,
If death is final and the truth were known,
Where, oh where has the spirit flown?
We hear a lot about the virus,
How it sneers and tries to kill us,
A fever first and then the Whole,
A lady mentioned once the soul.
Hugging and kissing are not permitted,
Death as a reason is not considered.
We must be safe and all alone,
But where, oh where has the spirit flown?
Frank Thomas Smith