The body is but a physical shell
In a world made of an equally physical realm.
It's wants, it's needs, can only be physical
Like a child with a toy that's quizzical,
It is puzzling only because touch is unemotional.
A thought is but a wandering word
Floating about in a psychic world.
Without the physics of nature it is adrift
Like a boat floating in a small rift
Requiring to be free, a lift.
So at last we come to desire,
A dream of moving the priors higher
In harmony, in whimy, of an individual society,
Like my want of human civility
Through all deeds from small to nobility.