Given the choice,
I'd rather be a fool
than a cynic,
sitting backward on my donkey
riding Westward and
gazing at the dawn,
shouting to the sun, "Old fellow,
follow me! I'll lead you
to Summer meadows at noonday
and Autumn afternoons,
to Winter evenings and I'll
show you where stars dwell
in the sacred dark."
You laugh?
Don't be a cynic, friend.
Let's just say there's a
fifty fifty chance
our eyes create the light they see.

Picture: Mulla Nasruddin on his donkey