Le poète qui a perdu sa plume


As part of my early life

I travelled a great deal

I often travelled without my pen

So I had to memorise

Many of my imagined lines

I was frequently helped

By the generosity of others

Who furnished me with all

The items of my requirement

And then I became totally lost

After being washed up in error

I was lost for over seven years

On what was little more than a island

Which was surrounded on all sides

By sweeping fields of golden corn

Many of those who cared for me

Searched in vain without any luck

In time I was given up for dead

But I was very much alive

And then on one misty morning

A small local train

Arrived without fuss

To collect me