You whisper by with your mind in your eye,
Seeing nothing that's there but the bones of the bed,
Eyeing thoughts that would stare in your eye.

I know nice men who have nothing to say,
Except "What a nice day, may I say that today?
And I stay, 'cause I have nothing to say."

But the peace of mine is peace of mind, and eye a gift to all.
But the things I see, I see with mind, and don't observe with eyes.

Erudite eyes always bore me to cry,
And the raining that flows is the pure-salty drain
On the peace which I hold in my mind.

But the peace of mine ...

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