THE ANSWER, MY MOTHER, by Bob Dylan
When I was a boy and played with toy guns in the schoolyard, my mother disapproved and asked me how much longer I would be playing. "Mom," I said, "come with me," and I led her by the hand up a trail that sloped through the endless forest at the edge of town. We walked and walked for hours until we reached the top of a peak overlooking our tiny, peaceful hamlet. My mother was confused, but before she could say a word I put a finger to her lips and told her to hush and listen. The rustling leaves grew louder as a mounting breeze passed through them, and a loud wind made a whooshing sound as it whipped by our helpless ears. "There is your answer, mother," I said.
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