This Mind
Why, must I, possess this mind,
It adheres to anything, of any kind.
No prudence it exhibits, no strength of will,
It fails to remain, unattached and still.
From my duties, it makes me shy,
From works auspicious it diverts my eye.
My ally or enemy; its true nature’s unknown
For fickle it was, and even more, it's grown.
Not all is bad, and sometimes, I admit,
Virtuousness, even steadfastness, arise in it,
But a mere second later, its focus starts to sway,
A single temptation and it is led astray