Writing poetry's not an easy thing. Sometimes it is, but sometimes it's very hard.
   This morning, upon reading Mr. Kipling's piece, I had the germ of a profound idea sprout up. I've written it down so I won't forget, and I know that as the words I've written come back to mind during the day, new thoughts will be added to them - and I'd better stop whatever I'm doing and write them down too. But at some point, I will have to SIT down, clear my mind of all distractions, look like I'm doing absolutely nothing, concentrate on the ideas, add more, and arrange all of it into something deep and beautiful.  It's work. Takes some self discipline to turn the idea into art.