My wrinkled visage greets me
mirrored in the morning haze,
but this is not the face I see
by the light of different days.
My pines sing benediction,
as I salute blackbirds and jays,
but my mind has now gone travelling
to the light of different days.
When Hegel just offends me,
and Kierkegaard makes me crazed,
I visit Bertrand Russell
in the light of different days.
And when my journey’s ended,
and I’ve finally solved life’s maze,
you can bet I’ll be off wandering
by the light of different days.
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