Classic Poem

Man I shall beget to-morrow.
Where is he?
Life a load, the load a sorrow,
Better not to be.
Man I shall beget to-morrow,
Non-existent? Where is he?

He is spread in fields of wheat,
Low in grass that cows shall eat.
There are fragments of himself
High upon some warehouse shelf.
Any atom he may be,
Any atom may be he.

She the focus will control,
The new body, but the soul?
That is free.
The husk is made of any meat,
Any grass or any wheat.
But man has personality;
He alone is he,
The man is I get to-morrow
Whole in destiny.

Can I then be free?