My ordinary state is scatter-brained,
Thoughts skittering all about, diffuse, untrained,
Disorderly, unless I take a pen
In hand, apply it to some paper, then
The mob shapes up and forms into a squad
As if attending to the voice of God.
Then thoughts fall into line, proceed apace
And demonstrate unwonted style and grace,
Directed, as it seems, by some design
That’s more than I can rightly claim as mine:
Good Orderly Direction, an acronym
Deciphered, which implies not quite a Him
But something that defines a rightful course,
Suggesting both our proper end and source.