Nonwriting

I've been doing some awful nonwriting. The feeling of the poem is fully formed in my head- I can't make it into sensical words no matter how hard I try.

.............

If thou could'st empty all thyself of self,
Like to a shell dishabited,
Then might He find thee on the ocean shelf,
And say, "This is not dead,"
And fill thee with Himself instead.

But thou are all replete with very thou
And hast such shrewd activity,
That when He comes He says, "This is enow
Unto itself - 'twere better let it be,
It is so small and full, there is no room for me."

.............

I love this poem. I just thought I would share it... it was writen in the sixteenth century by Sir Thomas Browne. You have to read it a few times to fully grasp the meaning... but it's beautiful and makes you think nonetheless.

Have a wonderful Christmas, if I can fix my writers block and write something that isn't nonwriting, I'll post it. Until then, loves, adeiu.

~~Lime <3