I just wrote this draft and, to say the least, the final couple of strophes were unexpected to me. I had expected the poem to go on to explore themes of mortality and memory and their effect on the narrator.
However, sometimes a line will come into my head when I'm writing, as if from nowhere, and lead me down a completely different road to the one I thought I was taking. I've learned always to follow it to its conclusion, even if - in revision - I end up chopping the lot. In this case, I probably will, as there's something faintly ridiculous about it, and yet...
Here's the draft as it stands. I'll leave it up for a little while.
** I've now taken the draft down. It needs some work on the diction in the early strophes, which was a touch flat, and the ending needs to be thought out more and given more depth. Some poems never really come right and have to be abandoned, but I think this one should work in the end.
