Here I am, dancing in the wind I've got this mental journal in my head it's filled with lines of sonnets and verse The only thing I love to write about is time being turned in reverse Creativity is like a jungle cat She comes and goes as she may please and well, that is that Creativity is a near ghoul in my mind she disappears, comes and goes, lately she hasn't been so kind Because Creativity is a relentless ghost, she is She creates and destroys, envies, and produces She tosses and turns, her results are invisibly inconclusive because she is so fluid-like She seldomly hides or at least to others I call her name, it's just her game "Red Rover, Red Rover!" I call to her, "C'mon, come out, Creativity!" But during the day she always sleeps And at night, well at night, she plays.