A thought struck, Collided with another. Fallen milk with a shower, Turned to snow stuck, To the ground. On a quiet winter day, A thoughtless whisper, I say. It turns into a dialogue. My imagination and I, Twist tales and lie. Argue and reason, Throw ideas around for fun. Then, work beckons. Yet, the mind still drifts. Twenty years from now, With a book all done, A writer takes a bow. Puts down his pen, As the photographer, Adjusts his lens. Five more years, And the photos most dear, Are painted with a careful hand. What next? Another occupation, Slowly takes a stand. The dog outside barks, Good Lord, Two hours have passed! Reality seeps in, Reason takes up the reins. To boring now, I return. Reluctantly, its importance, I affirm. With a cup of milky tea, By the side. I turn up the light, And set forth, On my responsibilities tonight.