my poetry lies in my brother’s loft
my best work is there, sleepy and soft
it is tall as a tree, my best work
all cosy in a bird’s nest,
or coded into knotted bark
it is a locked case with a lost key
none can see my best poetry
did I put my name on it, does it belong to me?
it was clever and eager not all lines ended in _ee
nor rely on changing zed to zee
it is youthful, it’s wild and free
and nothing like this verse you see