Myne mynde to me a tumbledryere ysse, <br />where muste I watche my scrumpled, worn-oute thoughtes <br />seeke their redemptione in Hys watere’s grace; <br />thynkes-bubbles that do forme and burste in ayre, <br />thysse mynde’s so constant turmoyle withouten cease; <br /> <br />O maye I humble sitte and contemplayte <br />the roundel windowe of drye thoughte contained <br />and I, the watchere of myne turbulence, <br />Thy watchere aye; ’til time and change begone.<br /><br />Michael Shepherd<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/washedaye-s-metaphysikale-for-tara/
