By Mary Oliver

Everyone now and again wonders
about those questions that have no
ready answer:
first cause, God’s existence, what
happens when the curtain goes down
and nothing stops it, not kissing not
going to the mall, not the Super Bowl.
“Wild roses,”I said to them one
morning.
“Do you have the answers? And if
you do,would you tell me?”
The roses laughed softly. “Forgive
us,” they said. “But as you can see,
we are just now entirely busy being
roses.”