RIMA II

Arrow flying thru the heavens
shot off and crossing by chance,
no one ever ventures guesses
where it will tremblingly fall;

withered leaf of autumn forest
battered by southerly blast,
no one knowing in which hollow
it will happen soon to fall;

giant wave the wind and weather
twists and tosses out at sea,
rolling, passing, never knowing
on what beach it comes to fall;

light of wisps or vibrant haloes
shining, but only to fade,
not knowing which of their number
will shine on the last of all:

such am I, perhaps by hazard
crossing the earth come what may,
never knowing whence nor whither
my steps carry me today.