When a poem comes alive
I might be like Pygmalion
Not sharing her with anyone
Gently adoring her all my life

Yet, relieved from her laces
Doesn't a poem's magic lie
In that through the reader's eye
She may reveal her many faces?

So I charily hand her over
To the public domain
As however much I love her

It would be a thoughtless sin
Not letting you discover
What I never did put in