She was lucid of thought,
she was clear of thought she was sure,
she thought through everything,
and she considered life,
life after death in a morbidity of a time,
but where time wandered,
she was never sure,
and she was lucid of thought,
or so she thought,
for she considered it a million times,
but time slipped by,
and she was never decisive,
and she daydreamed her days away,
and philosophised over everything,
and never achieved much,
but judging by the smile on her face,
she was happy,
happy I am sure,
because what great art is conjured the mind,
and what great thoughts lie in so many people,
that are never spoken out loud,
and what great plans and solutions to the world’s problems, may be laying in wait in the brain,
only to be forgotten,
and replaced by some other thoughts,
that seem more important than the one before,
thoughts that may have changed the world,
but we will never be sure.
