The Thinker

In majesty, she sits alone
And makes the time to think.
A queen upon a wicker throne,
She doesn’t ever blink.

She knows her thoughts are nothingness –
Without both size and weight –
But, since she thinks them, nonetheless,
Who cares they’re second-rate?

As musical as coloured glass,
They charm her, day and night,
And, through them, sun- and starlight pass,
And there’s no finer sight.

And, when each thought has left her head,
Another comes to take its stead.

Photo by Elia Pellegrini on Unsplash

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