“What shall be said of those whose minds, while they appear to those present to be well-occupied, are wandering forty miles from the body.... As some note of reproach for such vagrant minds, others are wont suddenly to say to them ‘a penny for your thoughts!’"
— Sir Thomas More, 1500's (From F. Lucas, 1841, page 310)
If life is a journey
upon one craft, hewn by my own flawed hand,
how dark the night, when moon's no more than scythe
and waves, in tempest waged by consequence or fate,
Love must as a child's small fingers be,
guileless, pulling clouds away—
the vault from storms unpinned;
I see you there,
my north star, my friend.