When the times are closed off—
The world floats at all times.
It spins and does not fall.
If you find you’re one form
On the side of the road,
Don’t be blue. You spin, too,
Just as well as the rest.
You, too, float and won’t fall.
Now, of course, you may fail
And find it hard to hide,
And be told that you’re low.
You are one form. When one
Form tells you you are low,
You might smile. Think of all
Earth’s forms of flesh piled high,
As if it were a tale,
One of those old, folk lies,
In which a king or lord
Dreams to rule from the sky
And stacks all whom he rules
In neat rows to the clouds.
Think of those who call you
Low, stacked in that great pile.
How high will they all go?
How thick can one skin be?
On the side of the road,
Your form spins. You won’t fall.
