If You Want To Make A Song

Time For A Little Something.

One Of The Advantages Of Being Disorganized Is The Joy Of Discovery.

By The Time It Came To The Edge Of The Forest, The Stream Had Grown Up, So That It Was Almost A River, And, Being Grown-up, It Did Not Run And Jump And Sparkle Along As It Used To Do When It Was Younger, But Moved More Slowly. For It Knew Now Where It Was Going, And It Said To Itself, “there Is No Hurry. We Shall Get There Some Day.” But All The Little Streams Higher Up In The Forest Went This Way And That, Quickly, Eagerly, Having So Much To Find Out Before It Was Too Late.

Ideas May Drift Into Other Minds, But They Do Not Drift My Way. I Have To Go And Fetch Them. I Know No Work Manual Or Mental To Equal The Appalling Heart-breaking Anguish Of Fetching An Idea From Nowhere.

My Spelling Is Wobbly. It's Good Spelling But It Wobbles, And The Letters Get In The Wrong Places.