Quite often when I’d say that I was musing,
You’d look at me and say, “No, you’re just snoozing:
Although you’ve got a lap pad on your lap
And pen in hand, it looks more like a nap,”
Well, I’ll admit I may drift off a bit,
But that’s my way of sharpening my wit,
For when I’ve entered dreamland I may see
The path toward where my poem aims to be
And make what’s now subconscious manifest,
As if my questing mind had been Muse-blessed.
So leave me be that I may comtemplate
A better verse than this, but one that’s great,
For surely if I practice long enough
I’ll grow the skills to smooth out what’s now rough.