Where He's Bent

On sauntered he with no intent,
Assured he came from there;
Without and inkling where he's bent,
And seeming not to care.

Then, as into the haze of years
His basis came to blend,
He started wond'ring, in his loss,
What lay around the bend.

No more contented with his stroll,
Began to speed his pace;
With hopes to overtake his soul,
He broke into a race.

And in his need to hurry on,
To reach his final goal,
He thoughtlessly did rope the wind,
Still blowing uncontrolled.

He now is moving with a speed
No dream would ever dare,
With not an inkling where he's bent,
And seeming not to care.

- Edna Huber (1971)