I recently saw something I wrote published in Poets online under the name Pamela Hope. Does anyone know anything about this person, or did I mistakenly write a famous older expression into my work? I don't recall that, and this is why I am reluctant to post any of my better efforts anywhere but in a published book.

This July, the thought and creativity that I would have given to a Fourth of July poem were reserved to help save a kitty's life. A frequent front-porch visitor, Princess knew nothing of "amber waves of grain," "purple mountain's majesty," and "rocket's red glare." Rockets shot high above her five-word world, that had little to do with patriot's dreams and everything to do with the promise of tomorrow. Right now, I am the only man in the world who cares about this cat's existence. The truth is I am just as stricken, and we lie side by side equally dying.

We should legit organize our own Celebrity Softball Game.
Play another Poetry Site
Or Intramural.
Show America a different side
of stardom.
Rent a sandlot.
Wolf starting pitcher,
Soul starting catcher.
Eliot umpires.
Everyone gets an At bat.
Instead of hating on each other,
Play together as a Team.