I’ve got all these thoughts,
bouncing around my head:
emotions, words, phrases,
but they just don’t come together.
Then, when I’m laying in my bed,
I find names for the emotions,
the words turn into lines,
and the phrases get worked to stanzas.
Yet I neglect to write them down,
for I think it too much work.
So when I’m woken by the dawn,
I find my last night’s work has gone.
Comments about this poem (<font color=darkviolet>Gone by Jane Meyer )
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