Meta-Sonnet: In Which I Dream Of A Better One

Today I wrote a sonnet in a dream,

Dreamed, too, that I had posted it right here,

Where this attempt is now. But it would seem

The adder whom I dreamed stole it. I fear

It was the best one that I ever wrote.

I certainly believed this as I slept.

I reach now for it, just to watch it float

Away. I sit and wish now that I'd kept

On sleeping, even though t'would be a waste

Of precious time, called free, that's really not

At all free. How I live my life, in haste

To reach these days, only to nap and rot

When they arrive! And yet, shining and rare

That sonnet, dreamed of, still awaits me there.