The Mind

The mind is a fertile soil,
On it must something toil:
Either a positive thought is planted,
Or negative thoughts sprouted.

Whether one or the other grows,
Is always of ones controls:
For by diligence must one plant seeds,
Or by negligence tend weeds.

And as one ship sails east,
Thus moved by the great wind;
And yet the other flows west,
Propelled thither by the same wind:

So too our thoughts are,
Tarmac to climb us high;
High up ‘bove yonder star,
Or down low to a dim dense sigh:
And all lust hath root in the eye.