Shall I tell you of my former life? It happens in the strangest way,
today, not yesterday, before tomorrow begins, and where my new life ends,
over, and yet over, again. Like smoke, it rides the wind, and as it leaves,
so it patiently remains. Newton laughed about it when it landed
on his head, just as Galileo wrote his daughter,
I think, I think, I think, I understand.