I met a Muse who sent me back
To the hall of poets, bearded painters…
I live with a musician still,
Yet I left them in my mind;
Left for the realm of Insubstantia,
Dwelling where it’s not substantial,
Doing jobs that have no substance
With the worldly kind.
Where to go that’s free and open?
Go to the Bohemian crowd,
Join in with the voice they speak in
When at last they’re skilled and proud.
See the world the way they see it,
Be the change the artists wrought,
Linked to them in their endeavours,
With them once again in thought.