The Poem That Almost Was

I'm half asleep, a hazy slumber,
Awake and fresh will not encumber,
A misty trance of dreams surrounds,
Creativity's rife; no earthly bounds.

Words flow out, no time to wonder,
Rules and form are cast asunder,
Rhymes abound, ideas plundered,
A poem is born, arrives like thunder.

When all is done, a Nobel prize,
For this work must greet my eyes,
The best work ever, in any guise,
Its witty and fun, and stately and wise.

Quick, write it down, get some paper,
Must work fast to record this caper,
Open eyes wide, go grab that pen.
Think, think, what was that again?

Wide awake now, an excited flush!
But what on earth brought that rush?
Just cannot think what caused such fuss.
Better dress quick, or I'll miss the bus.