The given is we’re here and know we are,
And know we know, which makes us doubly wise:
We know we’re dust from some exploded star
And somehow sense we’ve yet to realize
The full potential of our latent being,
Arriving at some wisdom still unknown,
Some cognizance that’s ultimately freeing
When finally we come into our own.
What that may be, we can but speculate,
Imagining some lofty paragon
Perfected in what makes a person great,
The mantle that all sages then will don.
What other could that be than being kind
And toward the care of all to be inclined?