Time for me to fess up to similar self-doubt. And the worst of my wanderings is not sticking to my plan. I start out with an idea of what I want; I doodle and re-work lines and when I feel happy and ready to proceed I have an early night.
And toss and turn. And thump pillows. Get up and make coffee (strong) and find myriad things in my plan that will not work.
The things that "will not work" may be simply mathematical glitches (although, given my record with maths, that's probably the big booger!)
But what really bothered me with this piece was that I initially intended it to illustrate a personal absence. But I was too close to my subject.
And , taking that to its obvious next stage, means that none of you knows the background.
By now, the Dobson poem was lost in the mire!
So I have returned to the poem itself and will. not. stray...
(It's not all bad - the tangents, like that road less travelled, may yield other books!)