WE WILL ALL A'ROVING GO
Who among us shall remember what was? We will
dissolve like tomorrow's acorn breezes, across the
plains and fields - dying oaks and dying embers each.
I remember my father used to seek the final end of
everything before he would say it was done. It never
made sense, and things were done before he was over.
Now, there's really nothing. I can walk you to his grave,
or take you past his house. That's all. What pleasure he
had in hand, he has taken all with him. Life is like that.
Jesters and clowns. Fervid ones and crusaders. Workers
and bosses - everything at once. Who talks so fast is
talking low, who talks so loud is talking slow. How is it
to distinguish good from bad, dross from gold, or neither?
We will all a'roving go, and little shall matter either.