Bunsho

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.