It has always been the case of this one
world, born in each baby born into it,
that begins to explore itself anew:
wrestling and kicking till it gets it right:
cot, nursery, schooldays, to maturity:
nature’s sweeping, brimming encyclopaedia,
pulled out to the farthest stars, deep the sea;
summer flies, winter fires, spring’s green idea.
Sometimes it ends quickly, or dies white-haired;
in time, stretches wide as a cemetery;
each death of a world its life unimpaired
in the continuing face of humanity,
of you and I: I, all inclusively,
the world: you passes, I continues to be.