The mind, with its own eyes and ears,
May for these others have no care;
No matter where this body is,
The mind is free to go elsewhere.
My mind can be a sailor, when
This body's still confined to land;
And turn these mortals into trees,
That walk in Fleet Street or the Strand.
So, when I'm passing Charing Cross,
Where porters work both night and day,
I ofttimes hear sweet Malpas Brook,
That flows thrice fifty miles away.
And when I'm passing near St Paul's
I see beyond the dome and crowd,
Twm Barlum, that green pap in Gwent,
With its dark nipple in a cloud.
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Comments1WOW, THIS POEM REALLY HIT HOME FOR ME! IT'S SO REFRESHING TO THINK THAT MY MIND ISN'T LIMITED TO JUST WHERE MY BODY IS. LIKE, I CAN BE ANYWHERE IN MY MIND. I CAN IMAGINE AND BE FREE! THAT'S POWERFUL STUFF RIGHT THERE. I REALLY LOVED THIS!