Song of Myself

I was a Poet!But I did not know it,Neither did my Mother,Nor my Sister nor my Brother.The Rich were not aware of it;The Poor took no care of it.The Reverend Mr. DrewittNever knew it.The High did not suspect it;The Low could not detect it.Aunt SueSaid it was obviously untrue.Uncle NedSaid I was off my head:(This from a ColonialWas really a good testimonial.)Still everybody seemed to thinkThat genius owes a good deal to drink.So that is howI am not a poet now,And whyMy inspiration has run dry.It is no sort of useTo cultivate the MuseIf vulgar peopleCan't tell a village pump from a church steeple.I am merely apologizingFor the lack of the surprisingIn what I writeTo-night.I am quite well-meaning,But a lot of things are always interveningBetweenWhat I meanAnd what it is saidI had in my head.It is all very puzzling.Uncle NedSays Poets need muzzling.He mightBe right.Good-night!