In the wee hours of the morning, a brilliant idea
emerges from the netherworld of sleep
into your awakening consciousness
The words tumble forth, try to speak to you:
You reach for your pen
rub the sleep from your eye -
the perfectly crafted poem
now but fragment and blur
(and why is there no ink in this pen, you
filled it just two days ago!!!)
the ink starts flowing again, but
the words have all
and you're left with:
But it was a brilliant poem.
If only I could remember it.