Wheatgrass007's poem asks a simple question and then watches it spin in circles. The speaker begins with small, everyday examples of thinking: how apples taste, how cool a drink feels. These are light and almost playful, as if thinking were just idle daydreaming. But the tone shifts quickly. People question "ever in haste," rushing to learn more before their minds "reduce to paste," a funny but slightly anxious image of being worn down by too much thought.
The speaker seems amused and a little weary at once. Humans, the poem suggests, can't stop wanting more knowledge, and the line "Man won't rest. No!" has a stubborn, almost exasperated energy. The ending is the clever part. Even if we finally thought everything there was to think, we would only return to the opening question. The poem's last line repeats its first, so the form itself loops back on the reader. The mood is wry, restless, and gently teasing, with a hint of wonder underneath.