A question asked by every human
Since the early dawn of time...
A poser echoed through the ages
Both in prose and simple rhyme.
Like Valjean in Hugo's epic
Crying out when day was done,
Needing desperately to know...
Who was 2-4-6-0-1?
Where does life lead when it's over?
Will there be another side?
Is there only stillness waiting
When we reach the other side?
Pondering reveals no answer.
Desperate measure? No
reply.
Still the question haunts and lingers,
Prodding... Probing...
Who am I?
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