How strange it seems for one to see
at once all that they’re meant to be.

Unlike the man who wanted flee
by death. “To be or not to be?”

Perhaps now do I ask to thee:
How is it to live and to be?

Not to the immobilized tree,
that knows of nothing how to be;

Perhaps ask not the humble bee,
A bee is all it is to be.

Oh! Our knowledge is like a flee,
which is a tiny thing to be.

Or is it like the deep blue sea,
A vast blue strange odd thing to be?

The strangest thing: the stranger’s plea,
asking on if we are to be

more than this. Is the question key
to knowing what one is to be?

Oh let it be, I say to me.
What you will be, you are to be.