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