Eternal Questions Poem by William Coyne
Eternal Questions
The questions of Eternity,
once clamoring round my door,
keyholes seek of wealthy men,
my tithes offered too poor.
My years declining visitors,
my table meager, my hearth cold,
song and conversation waning,
my spirit and body old.
Now I must beg upon the street,
'Where do questions sit and meet? '
A finger points, 'On down the road.'
There I follow, my steps slowed.
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4/24/2024 2:42:06 PM # 1.0.0.1119
