Once, fifteen years ago, I heard a tale
Of how a classic song had been conceived,
Which sprang to mind today in some detail,
While bits of music I sought to retrieve.

For as I pondered how tunes are constructed,
And sang the ones that I thought found success,
A novel one appeared quite unobstructed
By thoughts I had the good sense to suppress.

But having written down in messy hand
The notes, the tune, though crude, can now live on,
The vagaries of memory withstand,
And new ideas for other ditties spawn.

Creation isn’t new- it heals the soul,
Akin to stepping towards a lifelong goal.