Shooting the Sun

Four horizons cozen me

To distances I dimly see.

Four paths beckon me to stray,
Each a bold and separate way.
Monday morning shows the East
Satisfying as a feast.

Tuesday I will none of it,

West alone holds benefit.

Later in the week 'tis due
North that I would hurry to.
While on other days I find

To the South content of mind.
So I start, but never rest

North or South or East or West.
Each horizon has its claim

Solace to a different aim.

Four-soul'd like the wind am I,
Voyaging an endless sky,
Undergoing destiny.