A poet bleeds and breaks his heart
Spills it out on paper
The reader spares a passing glance
And treats it like a favour.

All the anxt and heartbreak there
The intellectual labour
Keep your troubles to yourself
Or share them with a neighbour.

Spare a penny if you’re kind
Spare it for a busker.
Nothing for the poet though
Empty words and bluster.

Skip around the mulberry bush,
Dance and skip and caper.
Another poem in the book
Isn’t worth the paper.