One of my mental glitches is that when I am very sleep deprived, I receive a poem fully-formed from the other side.
For example, on an overnight coach from Edinburgh to London in 1982, I saw a bright yellow field in the dawn and took delivery of:
Constable Dunstable
Never says no
He can't hold on
But he won't let go
I've been puzzling over that for the last 34 years, and whaddya know? I just got it! It's about Buddhism and life and death and acceptance. But then, isn't everything these days?
I couldn't sleep last night due to a rich mix of rage, terror, pain and plain old bad mood. My poem arrived about 4am. It's for my boy Johnny. And it has a title!
Inheritance
Everythng good
I gave to you
Then you gave it back
By a factor of two.
Thank you Helen, I suppose we all need to know that we did our best for our kids but its so rewarding when it comes back to you by a factor of two. :-)
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