A ram I saw, two horns had he,
The first named Love, the second Hate.
He butted thus from tree to tree,
His meadow, Mankind; shepherd, Fate.
A trap I saw yet did not see,
But smelled its haunting, brackish bait.
Its strategies would not agree,
Its motto merely "Wait."
An endless ring surrounded me,
But name it not, I'd hesitate.
It circled 'round Eternity,
And whispered "Don't be late."
- Sitaram (written 1965)