The Soul Followeth Its Nose Poem by Mike Finley

Where we would think a problem through,
pausing till deep furrows sprout,
our friend shuffles along,
hardly thinking but inhaling in the most
considerate way.
And what it ponders rises from the earth
and bobbing in on every freshet
one may wonder what becomes
of all this research, what application
it leads to but what is
and must remain a mystery
to us finds satisfaction
in the breathing being
which knows, knows, knows
the path it trods because
it goes and thus goeth
to God.