An apology.it reads:
"Why poetry?" could be asked of me,
It seems idle creativity;
Words on page, on screen, on lips
While others fill their yards with ships;
Though I look not for apology
Off my tongue it slips.
Of others, I wrong them, true
Simply doing what I do;
With one, I make his fortunes worse
Another, tempt his heart to curse;
But who should mind, old or new
About a little verse?
Poetry is just a game
A man's one, but one the same
A sport of tag from word to word
No crowns or prizes first to third
But it's honored at least in name
Though it ne'er be heard.