Meandering thoughts awaken me,
With the persistence of a busy bee.
They know I have no tolerance
For losing my needed sleep.
It seems they are enchanted,
By the stories I write about them.
They know they may be fables,
From an imaginations whim.
I am pleased they are delighted,
In the prose they bring to me.
A poet would be most distraught,
If they should suddenly not be.
Now I'm awake and happy
Knowing their words are in print.
Simple as it might appear,
I remember what Simon sent.
The writer's time of joy is in the creation!!And the reader when he reads happily so !!JK