The spirit of enquiry leads me
Both over roof- and mountaintops
And through the deserts where she feeds me
On manna-dew and kitchen slops.

She takes me through the deepest hollows,
Along majestic city streets,
Inside the moss-lined nests of swallows
And to the moonlit grave of Keats.

And, when I sleep, she makes me travel
Along the byways in my mind.
At her instruction, I unravel
The skein of thoughts time’s left behind.

Though she’s a stranger to existence,
I know myself through her insistence.

Photo by Elvis Ma on Unsplash

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