They say put a poem in your pocket
Or perhaps up in your head.
I say there’s no real way to lock it
Lest it end up like a picture – Dead.
Someone’s gotta grow ’em,
But one really can’t be kept or cured.
If it goes nowhere it’s not a poem,
More a small, cold heap of careful words.
So put a pocket in your poem
Where you can pop in as a friend.
Otherwise best let it roam
If you don’t want to be its end.