Where is my pen and paper?
Shouted the alarmed poet
as he sat out in the sun
jotting notes at the local zoo-
in front of the primate cage.
The bruised bard, arms akimbo-
hair tousled, lips firm-
....internally implores:
"Why are Poets treated such?"
"Do we not bleed on every page?"
Suddenly he turned and he looked-
....to the monkey den-
where an ape sat, mocking man-
Stylus in hand, deep in thought-
A mere actor upon his stage-
"Gimme that!" Shouted the author-
reaching for his steno pad-
"Aping poets--that'll do"
"Leave creativity to man"
He spoke in mock-heroic rage.
He glanced at his offended pad-
and couldn't believe his eyes-
could they possibly deceive?
For on the page, the ape had written-
A poem as fine as he could wage.
So, monkey see--monkey do-
and then he calls it art.
Narcissist, the mortal stands-
he mimics Gifted hands-
the fool feigns to be a Sage.
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