The body is but a physical shell

In a world made of an equally physical realm.

It's wants, it's needs, can only be physical

Like a child with a toy that's quizzical,

It is puzzling only because touch is unemotional.

A thought is but a wandering word

Floating about in a psychic world.

Without the physics of nature it is adrift

Like a boat floating in a small rift

Requiring to be free, a lift.

So at last we come to desire,

A dream of moving the priors higher

In harmony, in whimy, of an individual society,

Like my want of human civility

Through all deeds from small to nobility.