Nothing is known
Say the jagged rocks contemptuous
Of being asked this opinion
As I walk along the
Shoreline of Lake Ontario near home
I pick up a small oval stone
Whose smoothness surely reflects
Aeons of sculpting by waves
It also remains silent
I stop for a moment to think
We are all descended
From the first communities of cells
Whose congregations
Tirelessly built the walls
Of their churches to keep danger out
So that I an old man
With little faith
In the fundamental order of things
Might pause for a moment
To bow down to mystery
And bathe in the profound silence
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