Brains
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I think my mind an odd machine.
It works,
A knocking engine gets me home.
How it works though,
Creating magic dreams,
I am not sure.
The mystery grows
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In every soul
Like a germ sprouting self.
Now, we may open safely human skulls
To see with our eyes
And feel for ourselves
The micro-machine nature built.
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But never will we find
That seed of self
For it ‘ not exist
Betwixt folds of wet flesh
Nor hearts of warm blood
Or pockets of wealth.
Not in books by wisemen
Who, knowing best,
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Live lives just as you and I
Just the same.
They too, find minds these odd machines.
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ns216.73.216.33da2 
and then Add to home screen.