All my poems are copywrighted!

Not a typo,
I am the cobbler,
The leather restorer,
The itinerant knife sharpener,
The wandering spice seller who knocks on your door.

My wares, my tools are my factory,
Where I fix what ever sorrow
You bring me in need of repair.

I am a smithy,
I am a wright,
So I am legally obligated to inform you:

Every word I wright, ever stanza healed,
Every fix-it-upper restored,
Has been authored by you,
All I did was
Copy it wright down
And returned almost as good as before*
but modified, in poetic form.

So when I warn,
All my poems are copywrighted,
My meaning simple, words crystal,
They belong to us, but mostly to you
Who are reading these words,

and were created to be shared,
writ in disappearing ink to vanish
if you don't pass them on!

****!




8:30 am
June 9th, 2013
Steal This Poem, N.Y. 10000