A fine stroke here, a blemish there,
A need to erase a small part where,
in a careless mood you sketched a bit crude,
you need to slog for hours to draw your muse.
Rehearsals galore, a note out of tune,
another take required, you played too soon,
the melody was right, but the pitch was high,
getting it right the first few times, is impossible nigh.
A phrase stands out, another one juts,
in a hurry to make it whole sans if and buts
word jugglery will only take you so far,
for the right turn of phrase, wait for your lucky star.
Attracted to your core, hurtling like an asteroid in space,
Please let me in slowly, I'm hurting you with my pace.
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