Do Not Be Jealous

                 Do Not Be Jealous

     Do not be jealous of my Poetry;

She’s not my mistress, but my daughter sired,

(In hope’s delight and despair’s agony),

     By inspiration’s fragile, fitful fire.

So, if she sometimes occupies my hours

And wriggles in between the pair of us,

     Do not resent her seeming forwardness.

She is so delicate, her tender powers

Susceptible to injury – because

     Of the frenetic, moody weaknesses

Of her ethereal pale parentage –

That she needs pampering at every stage.

     For you must realise she could not long survive

     In this harsh world did not my care keep her alive.