THE QUESTION

When I was a child and I had a question
I asked my parents "Why?"
And whatever their answer happened to be
I kept on asking "Why?"
And they thought me a nuisance
and they thought it a game
and they told me to go out and play.
And though I insisted till they scolded me well
my question was here to stay.

So I took it out into the street
and asked my cronies the question
but they were too busy playing games
and just laughed at my obsession.
There was too much to do and too little time
for the question with which I was born
and I lost all my friends for the question I had
and found myself forlorn.

From question to answer from answer to question
I asked my teachers "Why?"
and they taught me to reason and made me to think
but they gave me no reply.
They sent me out into the world
with nothing but a blob
of multiple choices and angry voices
shouting at me "GET A JOB!"

And I do as they say and I do as they did
get a job, get married, have kids.
And I squeeze my life into a box
just to make sure that it fits.
But the voice within me whispers
and there's something I feel that it knows.
And just as a think I've forgotten the question
it sits like a fly on my nose.

And the question is mine and mine is the question
and I cannot help but see
that it eggs me on and it lets me down
but it never lets me be.
So I feel my roots and I stretch my branches
and watch the leaves multiply.
And I water my life with the question each day
and keep on asking "Why?"

Jay Frankston
LittleRiver, CA 95456
wlp@mcn.org