What is the reason for a tree to grow -
to go to all that effort,
molding branches intricate in detail;
struggling towards the slightest ran of sun,
in tormented twists of twig?

Who summoned forth its urge
to emerge from within the scattered seed -
to rush away from the immeasurable earth
just to spread more seeds
and start again the same
ineffective strain toward the sky?

Who thought to make a spider scuttle,
just to make more spiders scuttle;
or a careful sheep to spend endless grazing days
just to raise more grazing sheep?

Who thought to make a man,
who goes to all the trouble
of writing poems, symphonies and plays;
who builds great towers
and diverts the course of rivers -
not for any greater purpose
than the grazing sheep or the straining tree -
only, in the end
to make more men,
who write poems, symphonies and plays;
who build great towers
and divert the course of rivers.