I'd just done the best work
To fall into my hands for quite some time:
Of night oil I'd burned much
Made sure both style and content were sublime
So I put it forward
To the public forum
In anticipation of my due acclaim
And meanwhile, by contrast
I'd penned a eulogy, pure workaday
Just hack work, just dashed off
Packed full of prolix puff and sad cliche....
No-one can really tell
When their hand's been played out well
And I don't even know
How my own story goes
Or if it's worth a jot
I can't see my stream
What I thought was perfect
What I thought was polished
No-one thought it worth much
And they made that clear
What I thought was worthless
Merely repetition
Somehow tugged the heartstrings
Brought them all to tears
I can't see my stream
No-one can ever know
What of their own's their very best