I do a lot of verbal composition in my sleep (we'd noticed - Ed.). On a bad night, this involves an endless round of rewriting and an ever more labyrinthine pursuit of an ever escaping subject - exhausting and frustrating, like far too much of my dream life. However, on rare occasions, I wake with something finished (though not necessarily making any sense). It happened today, when I awoke with this new-minted clerihew about a revered children's writer:
Was born under Virgo,
Which might well explain
Why he's so very vain.'
This puts me in mind of the time Dorothy Parker awoke thinking she'd had
a profound insight into the human condition and jotted down the lines,
'Hogamus higamus, men are polygamous. Higamus hogamus, women
My clerihew is nonsense of course - Morpurgo is not a Virgo.