Every single strain of thought Inner/outer/oddly wrought Ever bending, winding weaving Meant for meaning, left unleaving Linger longer lifting all Till all still lowly wonder fall This gift of words and dreams too often Flow from endings start to soften And every bundled mass on pages Trickles out from sloth to sages And when the words wonβt wilt or waken We find them there both left and takenβ¦