Oft times when I abed do lie <br />And feign would be asleep, <br />There arise profoundest thoughts <br />From out the far and deep. <br /> <br />Wafting the stage of in between, <br />Yet half asleep, yet half awake <br />And as I lie in pensive thought, <br />The mind is dashed as an ocean break. <br /> <br />A hundred scenes before me rise; <br />A thousand pictures across the sky; <br />A million words that in earnest speak: - <br />To the likes of you and I. <br /> <br />They flit across my conscious, <br />They position, line by line, <br />With gracious eloquence they tell, <br />These distant thoughts of mine. <br /> <br />They need a place on parchment <br />To edify us all, <br />Yet, they come, and then are gone, <br />With no course to recall. <br /> <br />Yes, I may write of things I care <br />And you may think “not bad” <br />But there’s an issue haunting me, <br />And make my eyelids sad. <br /> <br />No, it’s not the words that I have writ, <br />I’ll have you please take note: <br />But the ones that grieve me most <br /> The poems I never wrote.<br /><br />Wildwood Slim<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-ones-i-never-wrote/
