All these thoughts I think,
that cantankerous make
the brimming of the brain
(And such are not contained)
That all these thoughts I think
(These thoughts we think and say)
All these thoughts we think,
are just brains making hay;
we do not need to stop
to think; it's what we do.
Even asleep, these thoughts are deep
some dark, some light; a blight
upon a peaceful dream.
These thoughts though, which may seem
more real, to our souls,
but indeed, are ghouls.
But, when we're on the brink,
the thoughts that made us think
are left behind, it's true.
If thinking's just a game;
the end is still the same,
so to these thoughts I think-
I'll raise a toast, to you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I shall second that...with a toast, or two.