To Errol is Human

I wrote the following poem many years ago (1971) about the search and discovery of truth.  I hope the metaphors and innuendos make your discovery rich with surprises and insights. When we performed the piece Rochelle played the "timid" answer--in picture. Answers are Timid Answers are timid, my friend. They're born when the snow starts to melt And blossom when sweat beads fall. They can't be churned out like butter, But must age like cheese. In the desert they lie under rocks. On the mountains they're high on a crest. They're mixed in with confusion one thousand times their mass. One must pan them like god, sift them like flour, Or just listen. Answers are timid, my friend. They're so close you can touch them from here, But you've got to know where to reach Before that answer will ever appear. They hide themselves in corners, On shelves that are covered with dust, And they're in fro