Poetry;

Though just a dream in midnight's cage
It leaves things just a bit less blank
When it becomes the verse I thank
For filling up this too blank page
Turning nothing into something
Like providential finger snaps
That free creation from those traps
Somehow involving quantum string!
And so I say eureka now,
When strings of thought begin to clog
And churn behind my craggy brow
Like nebulae in London fog
Which Urania would disavow
If I was not her underdog!