Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam
Once upon a time, in a potter’s shop
I saw two thousand clay pot and cup
Suddenly a lone pot cried out, "stop!
Where the vendor, buyer, where my prop?"
To a pottery I went by chance
Two thousand pots I saw in a glance
Cried out a pot awakened from trance
"whither potter, vendor and buyer prance?"
We simply exist, silent, unaware
Busy with minute mundane worldly care
Occasionally find someone who’ll dare
To ask why we came, and from here go where?