Thoughts, stirring for so long among the rafters of my mind,
Flutter down from their roost to
Peck at my paper bag full of sliced Surety.
Odd birds!
Odd, birds, the bread within the bag
Is stale.
Don't-- don't, see, it falls apart so quickly when you peck-- but
Oh, never mind, it is too late.
It is all crumbs now.
What has that one done?
Torn the bag, and found inside it
A Rock.
They cannot peck that to pieces,
Though half the world has tried.
People want to turn this Rock,
Which even the hungry Thoughts cannot destroy,
To dust; and fling it in the wind.
Funny, no?
They think they are more powerful than the Birds!
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