Life is a propelling pencil
    dripping beach footprints upon
  the messy paper; while one has
    the age of a lead,
  followed by another within chains of push.
  The grand Will is the pressing thumb,
    which makes the writings seriously thump;
  and the Will comes from a greater form,
    the underwater iceburg that the leads long.
  From that invisible Divine impulse
    the entangled figures and lines
  learn to know:
    they know not what they're going to cover,
  or the mess that would soon them cover.