Visions and dreams always are known
Like leaves in southward skies are blown
We ask if it shall be or no?
They come and go and come and go
It is a fragment of figment
A painted dot of pallid pigment
A map marked with a single spot
I must decide to go, or not.
Sometimes it has not been given
Or the map is torn and riven
For why no we speak to reason
Always now, or for a season?
It is known and unknown too
Attained we think, by only few
So then we digress to go
Or pretend we do not know
And uncertainty's own part
In this ranging, rambling art
As much a threat for those who fail
As a prize for to avail
Remembrance is though never mixed
The mind's eye on it remains all-fixed
Seen that place, write it deep
In the secret places keep.
Ask then seek that inner path
Whose ways wend deep and that hath
Solid stones beneath your feet
Whose end at which we fine'ly meet.