In the Next Life, Canto IV, stanzas 38-40

Once in a while, I wake up and I hear
an unfamiliar air inside my head,
but when I move the tune will disappear.
(I need to keep a pencil by my bed.)

Now maybe someone thought of it before,
and maybe later on another will,
but what if it is heard again no more?
It has no chance an audience to thrill.

Oh, well, it’s no great loss. Unlike these rhymes,
my musical attempts are pretty small,
but I just like to speculate sometimes
about the way things might have been. That’s all.

©2013 Louis A. Merrimac