Long around age fifty I had a dream. I entered a big stone courthouse filled with long tables. I was given a large sheet of newsprint and a box of markers of many colors. I was told to list my accomplishments, and when I was done, turn it in on my way out one of the doors in the back. I filled out half the sheet, looked at it carefully, and decided I was not done yet. I left my sheet on the table, and went out the way I came in. I do not remember what was on my list... only that I was not done yet. The question remains: When will I know I am done? When will any of us know?
When do we know
We*re done?
Done speaking?
Done listening?
Done waiting?
Done doing?
When do we know
We*re done?
When has
Enough water flowed
Under the bridge,
Over the dam;
Enough rain fallen
On the just,
The unjust;
Even enough grace
Sprinkled like fairy dust.
When do we know
We*re done?
When do we know
We have accomplished
What we came here
To do;
There is simply
No more room
On the page
To list
One more thing?
When do we know?
No comments:
Post a Comment