The Right Idea

Our fearless leader wrote an Italian sonnet that I love. (She doesn't like to be called a teacher). Her name is Jane Underwood and she runs The Writing Salon where I take my class.

The Right Idea

When you have the right idea,
I say to myself, you'll know it.
Simple. So I drink tea and wait,
often for years, for that right idea.
It's such a relief when it finally
arrives (wearing sweats, out of the blue)
to tell me what I already knew.
(Sweats and an old shirt, so casually!)
I tend to expect more grandeur,
I suppose, from a right idea.
Not such a plain-clothed oracle.
But in one quick blink, no fanfare
The right idea can break thru rock, voila.
January, February, March. Then April.