The Where

Do you dare to hunt a Where,

To trap it, snap it in a snare?

Will you go through misty murk,

To find the place a Where might lurk?

If we’re lucky, we may see

Exactly where the Where could be.

What’s that noise? A Where­-ish hiss?

It’s not in that place, or in this.

Ssssh! Be careful! Lie down flat!

It’s not in this place, or in that.

Did it make that growling sound?

It’s not about, it’s not around.

Is it thither? Is it yonder?

Or does a Where prefer to wander,

Never here, and never there?

Yes, do you dare to hunt a Where?

 

The Why

There’s sometimes a Why which whizzes around.

It makes such a whining and bothersome sound.

You brush it away, you give it a whack,

But insistent, incessant, it always comes back,

And buzzes all day through the thoughts in your brain,

Driving you totally, truly insane!

You bosh it, you bash it, you bish it, you swat.

But can you forget it? Of course you cannot!

So that is the reason you always should try,

Whenever you’re able, to answer a Why.

 

 

The Elephant’s Trunk

My nose, I suppose, is an elescope;

It’s hollow and terribly long.

But I use it to smell not to see, so oh well,

Perhaps I have got the name wrong.

Old Year

Where does it go, the old year?

Does it vanish, disappear

On New Year’s Eve? So fleeting, fast.

Or do those twelve short months still last

In every living being’s mind?

And will historians some day find

Those pasts, like sky-blue jigsaw bits,

And try to see how each one fits

The broader picture in the frame,

Each alike, but none the same?

Where does it go, the old year?