When words are called for, verse or poetry,
I rummage in my pocket for small change
and promptly offer up a handful:
here are my poems, these sundry coins ...
to see them there,
so lacklustre and dead,
those dull ten-pees, those drab pathetic twos,
that shone so very brightly in my head.
My hard-earned verses, rhymes, opinions, views,
have not much sterling value, so it seems,
while other, bolder people’s money screams.