Grammarian

Across the magic sandbox crawl
The wordly beasts,
Playing at tongues.
They offer phrases, commas, connotations—
The tutors of us all. Born never-young
They herd the restless living eye
Into the thin corrals of line and stop,
Ignoring what they do, and why.
They do not often laugh,
Nor ken, nor sense, nor know within, nor wot.
And this shall be their epitaph –
"They thought."