What evidence have we that after life
Another life exists without the strife
Of agony and ecstasy we know,
The lot of mortal creatures here below?
I’d like to be persuaded life goes on,
Albeit in another mode of being,
And that the consciousness we then may don
Will yield us wider, deeper ways of seeing.
Except to know so as a certainty
Would rob this life of something valuable,
The impetus to be all we can be
And gather all the rosebuds we may cull.
“Just let the mystery be,” wise ones will say,
And savor all you taste here, day by day.