Two poets danced in a blossomy wood
One with petals and the other with God
Where are, one asked, the flowers of yore?
Two poets turned in a stormy wood
One felt wind and the other, God
Whence, one asked, do these wild winds roar?
Two poets leaned in a wintry wood
One through snow and the other with God
What more, one asked, must we endure?
Two poets came upon a midnight wood
One turned back and the other toward God
Both paths, God said, lead to my door.