I think I thought I sought to see
Failing to pass, coming to belie
The hunger overtaking me
Of what I can, the drive to be

I thought I heard a child cry
A ghostly tear of old
Among the trappings of my mind
Patter against the mold

I'm saving that for cleaning, in spring
The recesses, twisted and dead
For the plaques will be gleaming
From the merit of my seeming
And not from inside my head.