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You do not want to read this;

The scribbled notes, the crossings out,

The clichés and the after-thoughts.

Wait until I've typed it up

Or better still wait for the book

By which time all will be smoothed;

Each word a tin pearl,

Each line a universe

Of fragile meaning giving birth

To thoughts which at the moment

Don't exist -

And all this rubbing out will seem

Little more than Bottim's dream

Compared to Hamlet's tortured soul

Where words alone cannot console.

Brian Hick February 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 19.2.24