Shouldst Best strive for,

Yet in soberness find,

Bereft of Heart,

Our searching be,

Whilst low we climb,

And high we dig,

Round tails we chase,

As walls knock down,

Best we want,

And Best we'll have,

Til in jest (or Truth?) we cry:

"Tis all a bore,

Ist all a mess!"

Not that desir'd,

But quest thereof?

Are we the bore?

Perish from thought!