It was a still life watercolour,
I could picture in my mind.
From
'The dangling conversation,'
Of a song,
I could not find.
Down the street a dog was barking,
And
'One too many mornings'
Disturbed my reverie.
As the words of Dylan's song,
Came floating back to me.
Like a play on life unwritten,
And
This poet's unpublished desire,
For an ambition not forgotten,
I'm still wishing on a star.
And
So I'm oft defining,
What measures I should take.
With
Random thoughts of words and prose,
That keep me wide awake.
And
When at last sleep has taken over,
And silent words have been said.
How many lines of treasure?
Have been lost within my head.
And
How many times do I wake and rise,
And hurry off to write.
A line or two, to see me through,
Another sleepless night