Driftwood

I seize upon a passing thought,
’tis but a driftwood floating by
 
I waste an hour and then a day,
I let it go, it drifts away
 
Get thee away, leave me in peace –
you spiteful mem’ries, you scornful dreams!
 
I settle back and breathe a sigh,
in blissful silence close my eyes
 
I latch upon a passing thought,
’twas but a timber ambling by
 
Ah, who to blame but my own self!
for the rotting wood piled there on the shelf?