Pray tell indeed, what should not be;
Umbered thoughts of diminished lore,
Race though the mind, averse to flee.
O'er the usual sanity,
Feeling distraught, reasons obscure,
More reasons to seek amity
Of reasonless Escape's lure.
Meadow of summer has winter frost,
Even when winter is summer's ghost.
Nay, "Of all the things I've loved and lost
The Mind is what I miss the most!"
So here she is, perplexed once more,