Hazel Hall

The Answer

I asked the watchful corners of a ceiling,
And the little darkened cracks the years scrawled there,
Why there are suns, and if there is a purpose
Behind this mask of life people wear.

I asked some gnarled and patient shadows groping
Like wise hands of old blind men, on my wall;
And everything I asked answered my question
With that one answer which does well for all.