Ideas trip through my head.

Some are grand and slow,

Others dance, skip, and twirl,

Some slip through the bars of my mind

When I try to grasp them,

Others take their place,

Uncomplete, enticing

They are ever circling,

As continous as p.

They keep me awake nights

Letting them escape through my pen

Other times they hide

Taunting and teasing me.

Joanna Ballard - Oct. 3, 1978