The Pensieve
By Betsy
 

Whirling, twirling, twisting, turning
In a bowl of stone,
Wonders of the mind,
In here they find their home.
For I am sure you can recall, once or twice it's know,
That you seem to have so many thoughts,
That they are liable to roam.
Outside the head and body,
Right down to the floor,
And then they won't be
Thoughts anymore.
But to trap them,
And remember ever more,
What happened to that little girl,
Or your neighbors door,
Keep them in this little bowl,
So you can do just this,
Few them at your leisure,
And nothing goes amiss!