Wandering Thought

If a thought could be seen, mine would paint this picture

Rustling beside my falling steps,
A thought burrows into earthen depths,
Minding quiet time through stones and bones,
It is veered into a brook gushing in cheery tones,
Surprised it floats heedless on the foamy tops,
A while it rides before it plunges and stops.

I opened my eyes to blinding life,
My thought coloured into pain and strife,
It scurried in haste about the room I lay,
In time, it shot out on a timid sunny ray,
Between the grills, I watched its chosen path,
Soaring with a bird in flight, challenging its envious wrath.