Granted, we die for good
Life, then, is largely a thing
Of happens to like, not should

And that, too, granted, why
Do I happen to like red bush
Gray grass and green-gray sky?

What else remains? But red
Gray, green, why those of all?
That is not what I said:

Not those of all. But those
One likes what one happens to like
One likes the way red grows

It cannot matter at all
Happens to like is one
Of the ways things happen to fall