W i s d o m

O sage, I have come from afar to discuss
In these days, is there left, any wisdom in us?
And should we have come to a time in which there
is for wisdom in men neither interrest or care
Should we find a new place for wisdom to look
Whether nature or heaven or word or a book.

Or have years made null this search of mine
Has wisdom been changed by the passing of time
Lost forever, and fled the mortal sphere
Getting further away from us, year after year

There is wisdom in the earth
he said
And there is wisdom in men
There is wisdom now, as there was wisdom back then
But why ask you such things, does thou not see?
There is no less wisdom in you than in me
Wisdom is abundant, wherever you look
Indeed in nature, heaven, word and book
Intrinsic is wisdom, with invisible gleam
It hides in all things, there indeed, but unseen

But I really should warn you, he said
Your quest to search for wisdom is misled.

Who seeks for wisdom, but the unwise!
They measure wisdom from the dots on their dice
They seek it in the trees, by digging up their roots
They measure it's rings, instead it's fruits
They seek and they count and they plan and they plot
But they find it not
It did not help them to be eager
As wisdom is elusive to it's seeker.

The unwise seek for wisdom in the shapes in the skies
They define the word wisdom, and think they are wise
They measure and count and probe and test
And talk of wisdom, as if they know it best
But what wisdom is there in themselves or their tests
Or the findings presented to conference guests

When seven stone are seen on a mount
Is it wise to say: 'There's seven to count!'
Or is it wisely said, if a great fire is made
That in a day or two it shall go out and fade
The flame itself knows how long to burn
And iron knows how to rust, as it must
So, are they wise, for knowing this?
Is stone enlightened, by wisdoms bliss?

Would these things not be, without any sense?
They need no wisdom to commence
And seven stones are seven still
If they weren't counted on that hill
To a tree,a child or a man in his prime
The fire still, shall burn it's time
And counting time won't wiser make
No wisdom found in fires wake
And counting stones won't make one wise
Whether counted once, or twice of thrice
The seeker's left unwise, and grim
Once more has wisdom eluded him