Creative In My Sleep
I awake with a rhyming poem fresh in my mind
The cadence amazing, it is lovely and fine.
Pretty sonnet, old masters kind of loveliness
I am proud of this one, I have to confess.
Okay how can I be this creative in my sleep?
Daily ocean waves of ideas buried so deep.
My muse begins to taunt me. She’s a pixie tease.
Leave me alone, Trixie. You’re never at ease!
Do others have muses who interrupt their nightly rest?
Tormenting your dendrite highway? Frustration test?
I awake with this poem she has planted at edge of my sleep.
Fifteen minutes later it has oozed away, buried way deep.
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