A Tune

Once came I unto a road
Whistling above my thoughts,
And trod I, blissful as my song flowed,
Lip a-curling at the sound begot.
The road, he walked along me
Lest I was of other notions-
Frictionless slithered 'neath my feet
One path bent with emotion.
Never to, but fro only went the way
Treading, treading I: bloated finger o'er globe
Whose loneliness touches nothing, as they say,
But the hem of ethereal robes.
Round curves my body taken,
Whistle swelling with delight;
Though present peril, 'twas forsaken
I ever whistling despite
The road. He walked along me,
Brought me things to behold.
Looked I did, and freely
Albeit horror they foretold.
"All passes," taught the wise meander,
"All is found around a corner, and around a corner all is lost.
To whistle, then, what could be better,
Through benefit or cost?
Everything is the nature of your tune;
What walks along you is distraction.
Thus, folly is it to howl at moons
That soon must conceed their place to suns."