I’m a fan of my own poetry
I think it is most fine
I cogitate on every word
I swallow every line

Of all the words I’ve written
I hold each poem dear
No matter stones that you might throw
Nor how rude your Brooklyn cheer

I’d rather read my words of wit
Upon a restroom wall
Than Suffer Will and Chaucer’s
Works; inside some fancy hall

Folks today never talk like that
That train left long ago
So give me five my brother
Make it high; or make it low

Come share my homespun wisdom
I don’t promise it will rhyme
But you won’t need a college sheepskin
To interpret every line

I write words plain and simple
So a child of nine or ten
Can enjoy every story
As he reads them in the den

And I don’t need no critic
To explain or to expand
What the words meant when I wrote them
Because they’re already plain

If I never sell a single book
Well that will be just  fine
For I’m a fan of my own poetry
And will read you every line