The Spry Arms of the Wind

If a thought were to come to you
And ask for your help, for a loan,

For a piece of your mind, would you
Ask it who it came from or where

It called home? Bet you would. A thought
That knows what’s good for it won’t tell,

Will look lost, look at you and coo,
Feign a torn wing, mew, ask for mom,

Ask if you’re mom, try to look cute.
A thought’s best chance for a new home

Is a soft fool who thinks it’s new.
Thoughts could teach you a thing or two.

Thoughts are on to you. You want them,
But you want them to be your own.

You do. You’ll try to put a thought
Out of your mind that looks hard used,

If you don’t think you’d like its kin,
If it reeks of the stale, harsh sweat

Of one of those minds from strange lands
That tend to think a lot of filth,

Lands where minds are known to be cruel,
To whip their thoughts, train them to thieve,

Send them off to nice homes like yours
To try to con you, steal your trust.

Thoughts know you don’t want thoughts like those.
Thoughts want to live. They act their best.

If you quiz them too hard on this,
They’ll play way back. They’ll turn to myths

That hold deep truths, then say they flew
In on the spry arms of the wind.