thou dost not fly, thou art not perched
the air is all around
what is it that can keep thee set
from falling to the ground?

the concentration of thy mind
supports thee in the air
as thou dost watch the small young birds
with such a deadly care

my mind has such a mind as thou
it is an evil mood
it comes when there's no time for grief
and on my joys doth brood

then do I see my life in parts
the earth receives my bones
the common air absorbs my minds
it knows not flowers from stones
(author unfortunately unkown)