Tell me! Please! The why and when and where.
Answers you can scribble with this pencil––
here’s a pad. Later I’ll compare
the truth with what you write, O wily Sibyl.
But first, reveal the foremost mystery
nagging, plaguing, haunting me. How?
As one whose countless daily questions vary
from commonplace to whimsical, I vow
to aid you in successive forecasts. Other
beggars merely take, while I could give
as well, serve tea and like a fly in amber,
forever your enabler, outlive
myself. I’m truly yours if you portend
the details of my denouement, my end.
