Night Writer.

I scratch my head and chew my pen,
and wrack my brain all over again.
The words won't come; they're so elusive,
My mind awash, thoughts inconclusive.

I sit and think 'til midnight hour,
while in my mind ideas still cower.
They hide from me yet still I try
to capture them as they fly by.

I go to bed and soon to sleep
where, in my dreams, ideas leap.
I'm half-awake and have to write
the poems visiting by night.