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)