Pondering, mind open, thoughts a drift, I lay in my bed.
You slowly crawl in and come to shape in my head.
A brilliant flash of genius, a yarn of a tale that starts with this single thread.
To tired to begin it, so I scribble you down instead.
Satisfied, I give myself to slumber knowing tomorrow's writing lie ahead.
Waking from my rest, only to be deceived by what I read.
Surely, my idea was in this scribble, for in my sleep it fled.
Over and over I tried to figure it out, my frustration began to spread.
"Flaming globes of Sigmond" had left me misled.
I guess some ideas are better off unsaid.