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.