My imagination is a monastery and I am its monk.
—Keats
My face is a mirror
And I am its gaze
My finger is a prick
And I am its tip
My lust is a mistress
And I am its boob
My rear is a bum
And I am its couch
My beard is a garden
And I am its gnome
My faith is a habit
And I am its nun
My fear is a mountain
And I am its cliff
My will is a fortune
And I am its heir
My ego is a lion
And I am its pride
My voice is a note
And I am its tone
My wit is a parent
And I am its kid
My life is a ripple
And I am its wake
Charles B. Snoad 