I dream of a smoke-filled room
With deep red leather chairs
An old boys meeting place
Where all my favourite poets and storytellers
sit with their philosopher friends
Pen poised, ready to change the world
With their great imaginings
Magic to soothe the mind
Help your own thoughts to expand
Lewis Carroll speaks of a young girl
fallen down a rabbit hole
My ears tingle with anticipation
H G Wells speaks of the time machine he has in mind
Reading from his notes I want to interrupt him
Beg him to please take me with you
Today they have a foreign visitor
by the name of Mark Twain
He speaks of a strange land
and people of a different kind
Of a boy, Tom Sawyer, made to paint
a picket fence with white paint
Getting into all kinds of trouble
Helping a slave to escape when no one else would
His heart as big as the Mississippi
I would have helped with that expedition
A run for freedom that belonged to his all along
Morning wakes my still tired eyes
I look to my notepad by my bedside
Wishing I could write as well as my favourite authors
My mind still held in half dream
On my notepad I read two words, You can …
Written by a hand that was not my own…
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