The Folly

by Giancarlo Branca

There’s a hedge maze on the palace grounds
King William built the year he was crowned.
You can visit for about twenty pounds.

And you should. On summer days,
why resist a well-kept maze
with its delightful, diverging ways,

playful peril and cheerful quest.
Who’d refuse a kindly test
on which no stakes would ever rest?

The goal, if you decide to enter,
is to find your way to the very center,
and the prize placed there by the inventor:

“The Folly,” so the map declares.
In life, purpose this clear is rare.
Solve a puzzle and climb three stairs

and you win. That’s all you’ve got to do.
And when the striving and seeking is through,
the reward’s a seat and a pleasant view,

cup of coffee, a biscuit, or an ice lolly
and a mild restless melancholy.
All is folly, all is folly.

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Giancarlo Branca writes from a Zen Buddhist perspective but is deeply rooted in the poetic tradition of the Romantic and Modern poets. He most recently published a poem, “Apex Scavenger,” in Poetics.