"I am a leaf blown by the wind," I say,
but my friend vehemently disagrees,
protesting that he controls his destiny.

I say, "Then tell me your strategy today
to make your body go on breathing.
What plans have you that will keep
your heart beating continuously?"

He says, "That's not the same thing,"
and I answer: "If your destiny doesn't
depend on breath and blood,
on what does it depend?"

His lungs inflate and deflate, and
his heart pumps life through his veins,
independent of his will or action,
while he ponders his answer in vain.