Poet's Pride

To publish my poor, rustic rhyme

(Assuming that I had the time)

Would puff me up with poet's pride

In place of dream girl at my side

A thorn would pierce me through, instead

And dreams of grandeur in my head

Would drown her out and then replace

My goddess girl, and in her place

False friends, would flatter and kow-tow

Exclude my love, until somehow

Her inspiration, it would die

Then Muse, who'd filled my soul and sky

Would leave me in my garret room

Where I'd grow grey from grief and gloom

That’s why I share with you alone

My poet friends, lest I be prone

To poet's pride: the writer's curse

(That need to publish, poet's nurse)

Of fame, I’m fearful, and too old;

Let’s leave it to the young; they’re bold!