Higher Thoughts

When I get awfully blue as one sometimes will, 
And my whole way of living seems to be uphill, 
When my thoughts are in turmoil, 
And I pray for peace be still.

I clean a cluttered attic arrayed in shorts and such, 
For the sight of all this work doesn't faze me much, 
And soon I'm good and dirty, 
Dust on everything I touch.

As a learned reader I have gathered stuff galore, 
And piled it in a box or on a shelf or on the floor, 
Until the moment I have time, 
To file it in a drawer.

As order comes from chaos so my outlook changes too, 
All my burdens seem to lighten and I'm no longer blue, 
I learn the answers to my problems, 
And what course to pursue.

For working in solitude a small voice you'll hear, 
That's far too soft for the tumult of life I fear, 
It's always there if you just listen, 
Whispering serenely and clear.