I Can't Answer Every Question Poem by Mark Heathcote

I can't answer every question sweet-child
my mind is not a camera - it is
a wide river running forever wild
it takes a panoramic view - it is
a-ladle in the hot-soup-bowl of life
I am but bread and water the gruel.
That passes from hand to mouth still rife.
With all the waters that, fountain jewel.

Spring up or falls-down on you, the moist dew
that trembles pearly now have more answers.
Then all the scientists and birds-singing—view.
Ah, crystal thoughts hang on you with lanterns-
lit and yet child, you think my heart is glib,
while believing woman; was made a slave
to carry and fetch for you—of one rib,
was not the world made, my dear, little, knave?