On the eternal hike over God’s great green,
A friend and I each took measurement
Of our direction so far taken, and where we’d yet to go
We each, with separate instruments in hand,Deduced our bearings did not agree,
Something dyslexic had crossed our compass’ eyes,
When holding his on the left and mine to the right,
We saw our paths would soon cross, near enough in our sight,
Yet to swap them opposite,
We’d surely part ways divisively
We agreed, each needle, tempered of sound iron,
Magnetized the same, was true, yet by degree they disagreed,
And which was false, we could not see
For who asserts their facts exact?
Bluster and brag prove only bodacious might,
No single eye can claim true sight
We could have waited, out in that wild park,
Until night had fallen and all gone dark,
Then to check our bearings by the charting stars
Yet even old Polaris cannot lay claim to a fixed truth,
It spins inconstant ‘round earth’s axis
By a known degree of a smidge or two,
Thus, what worth does any compass’ have, but to
Fix friend against friend in rude quarrelsome views?
We returned home by the path we came,
Agreeing both that that way was the same,
And have since promised, making our amends,
Never to judge upon the path of friends, until
All has been seen determinedly through,
All the way on, to its natural end
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