writing before bed
Writing before bed
Last night, with a noisy storm, I was annoyed
had to wait until November, usually the gods
of the weather let it lose in late October
My writing room was cold, but not cold enough
to switch on the electric heating that is too dear
since the Chinese bought the grid
I went to bed early, with a duvet and a blanket
It is warm enough to fall asleep
But I thought of a poem or story, my poetry has
an element of storytelling, I wrote the piece in
My head even used commas and full stops
thought of getting up, writing it down, and said to
Myel will remember it tomorrow, nevertheless
The confounded poem kept me awake
In the morning, I could not remember the poem
But I didn't despair, knew that it would pop
up again in some form or another
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