There’s nothing supernatural I believe;
What’s natural is mystery enough,
Which science has the best means to conceive,
Calling outrageous superstition’s bluff.
It’s supposition that begins the quest
For certain knowledge ultimately proved,
As careful methodology will attest,
Once skewed hypotheses have been removed.
And yet there’s much that never may be known
About which we may wonder endlessly
Though not illuminate that twilight zone
For all our vaunted ingenuity.
One question causing human brains to stall
Is this: Is there a purpose to it all?