The Wandering Mind

My mind is always wand’ring to and fro,

But something I have learned, lately, to hate

Is when my struggling thoughts do stop their flow;

‘Tis then I leave my brain to face its fate.

Each day I wait; my wit will take its stock

Within my head; gray matter shall I hoard.

As time moves forward on my hasty clock,

I sit and wait, and pin dreams on a board

That floats, dreamlike, inside my tiny flat.

These thoughts and feelings – more than I could bear –

Surround me, dancing where I, free, am sat,

Without the stress for which I once did care.

These troubles will I think no longer of;

Instead, I ‘scape and lightly live in love.