The Point

Life is like that.

The sharpest point that ever made,

     a way into the darkest glade,

     where truth's desire has been forbade,

     where hope's ambition is overpaid,

     has found a means to make the grade,

     and told the secret never played,

     upon the stage when no one stayed,

     to make a show of every spade.

You know that point so sharp, so fine,

     it makes no mark except a line,

     to carry ahead as if to shine,

     a radiant light to help unwin',

     does it begin with yours and mine,

     where everything is just a sign,

     pointing out a thorny pine,

     within a forest where points combine.