He pauses in a moment dearly bought,
Seeming lost, but gazing still behind,
To wonder at the ribbon of a thought
That winds between the fingers of his mind.
In silent contemplation, there he stands
As one who waits the moment to embark.
He feels the puzzle in his steepled hands,
His eyebrows arched into a question mark.
Though all around him bustle in their haste,
He stares inquiringly into the sky.
Alone is he who thinks it not a waste
To seek to solve the great, eternal “Why?”
Yet we observe his contemplative spell
Makes others want to stop and think, as well.