Pondering the Ponders of His Ponders

I seem to write when I am in touch with the objects of nature.

Your hair dancing in the wind, and (Oh)

The way your eyes sparkle in the open sun;

How your lips seem to move with constant time--

These could bring me to my knees effortlessly, and (Oh)

I've been pondering the ponders of your ponders,

The ones where the words spew out like careless mistakes.

You can't seem to stop them, but I caught them in a net--

And I must say: "You've got the anchor that ties

The boat to a never ending, relentless current."