I know not what it's like,
For naught is all-
Of what I likely know.
Is it emptiness,
With an overflow that abounds?
Or is it that-
Every end has dressed,
Concurrent for-
My observed empty shroud?
Always the questions press-
For no reason it seems,
But to contend thy guess.
I try to answer-compliant,
That i'm best to connect-
Words left meandered;desired
To correctly set down thou quest...
All roads lead to me,
For all roads see me walk-
Down paths we would leave-
Favoring ways, with the flock.
As a repetitive sheep-
I urge forth, the Shepard sought,
One; a herd left complete,
With all feet that'd not stall...
