Your Mind, Not Your Own

There is no limit to its chatter;
It jumps about like a jack in the box.
In the barely perceptible a constant clatter,
The mind is a wily red fox.

It rambles where it may;
You really don’t have a say.
Round and round and round it goes;
You can’t douse it with a hose.

Count your breaths one, two, three;
It will just shout with glee.
But if you focus on nothing more,
You may show it the door.

Yet, try as you might,
This little devil, a wild horse,
It leaps and creeps and sneaks about,
A primal force.

All Poetry — Henry Barnard

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