Why should I long, and what for?
I need nothing, I want for nothing;
I have all I need; I find myself wanting.
Where should I go, and what for?
I need go nowhere; I am where I need to be,
Yet I find myself wanting, wanting to leave,
To flee these calm woods
For the restless seas.

How should I act, and for how long
Will this play go on?
How many acts are in store?
How many more stories will be built, and
Which one will stand atop the rest?
Which ones will go, which ones will stay?
What story will they tell of the ones
Who refused the part they were assigned to play?

Who could I tell,
Who would listen, who has no part to play,
Who I am, when I part from the stage?
What would I say? What words would I use?
Should words be used? Should they be used at all?
Who could I tell,
Who is not used to using,
Who I am in silence, without using words?

When will she return, she who left long ago,
She who I yearn to know?
Where has she gone, she who is always going,
She who has yet to return?
When will I return, I who do not know where to go,
I who I yearn to know?
Where have I gone, I who am sitting right here,
I who have yet to return?

What would it matter if by some unknown power
My bodily matter were extinguished
By morning’s first light?
Would I leave anything to light anyone’s way?
What can I perceive of the unknown power
I cannot hold—now falling on the roof as rain,
Now rising over the hill as Light?
What can I leave with the Day before it turns into Night?

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