They say it's good for me
To stick to my trade.
But I feel as if it gets me out
Of my corporal life; as if it says,
'Get out of here! Enter the realm
Of your impetuous fantasy,
Fly away with your fast spirit;
Stay there as long as you can,
Keeping away from all mundane.
This is the only way to be tops
In your field, Master.' Instead,
I tend to knock about the world --
There isn't a whole spot
On my unrestrained fantasies --
Even my valued trade
Is out of touch with them.
I don't know what your "dear trade" is, but I sure know that it's all right to have unrestrained fantasies as long as you don't indulge in them in real life if they are dangerous or embarrassing.
I think you speak of the beauty of being a poet who can set himself loose in the "realm of . . . impetuous fantasy" and "fly away". That is exactly how I sometimes feel when writing a poem, especially when it is finished. Later I go back to "knocking about the world", as you say. Today's poem struck a cord.
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Ron