The head, the heart, and the eye.

On wings from fairies, float these wholesome thoughts,
from blessed books, and bottles frozen from,
the fridge that freezes quicker than it ought,
I slowly wait, my mind must now be thawed.

Ideas too often carried on in haste,
though, "fast" ain't wrong, it's slowliness that has,
a wholesomeness, it chews enough to taste.
I hope that I can slow down to a pace,

to hold with hands that carry kinder thoughts,
which have been stilled, and can be trusted in.
The head must be a precious place, for sure,
I'll never treat it like a garbage bin.