Contemplation

When I contemplate the ages past
And quiz the depths of life
Mystery is all I get
For my labours.
The birds are flying
And chirping;
The tall trees dare the clouds,
Men and women go about their
travails with unrest in their hearts.
I observe the moods of spirits
If that were possible,
Sighs that source deep in the heart;
I try to understand the essence
Of painful musing, but
I see I never can, either ways.