I had an idea the other day, or did it have me?
Where did it come from? It was flying loose and free.
Now I really want to hold it,
pat it and enfold it,
write of it and mold it.
I touched it only briefly; it tickled me – I laughed!
It danced about, elusive, in a sunlight shaft,
enticing me to follow it, to skip and to play;
but then it got tired of me and floated away.
Ideas are friendly things – they’re looking for a home,
but they enjoy their freedom; they do so like to roam.
Here they come – above, below;
fast or slow – you just don’t know!
Nurture them, so they will grow.
They come to life in writers’ hands and with an artist’s palette,
through dancers’ steps, musicians’ skill and with a sculptor’s mallet.
An idea’s life is judged – within the voting ballot.
Sometimes they run about, kicking off their traces,
then they suddenly pop up in unexpected places.
They might appear here at home, close upon your pillow,
or down by the river, day-dreaming ’neath a willow.
I had an idea the other night, or did it have me?
Where did it come from? It was flying loose and free.
Now I really want to tame it,
handle it and name it,
choose perfect words to frame it.
It had its wings already, I did not want them clipped;
they flashed and soared so wildly, in silver they were dipped.
Moonlight tipped the feathers in flights of fantasy...
It disappeared completely! It clean escaped me!
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