The marches of the elephants

The thoughts that are like marching elephants
They come and go imprinting images in me
They stomp, they roar, they soar up high above the ground
They look the same and yet in some mysterious way
They’re incomparable, they’re matchless and unique

They’re proud and yet humble in they’re own way
They’re fearsome and yet fragile and frail
They stab the air with mighty trunks held upright
They make no sound and yell at the same time
They’re endless like a desert in the sun
There is no end and none can trace the source