The Point

Those motions won’t go through themselves
“It” can’t get in without your phone
There’s plans need shifting onto shelves
And nine more stitches needing sewn
That molehill isn’t yet a mount
Though milk’s been spilt there’s none yet crying
Unhatched chickens yet to count
And sleeping dogs to be let lying
Thirsty horses listless stand
Beside the troughs where they were led
Who can’t ignore a drink command
Too dumbly mumbled from abed
Though theirs the latitudes you’re trapped in
Drifting ships still need a captain

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