Poets Will Not Be Led Poem by Patti Masterman

Poets will not be led to the watering trough, like farm stock
Poets will not fall into line, like school children
Poets will not swallow any pills you may hand to them:
Yea; though you shall message them with a thousand
Miraculous water-into-wine poems, of other poets
They will not leave a single comment upon any one of them
Unless it be their own, original idea to do so

And in this way, they are very like a cat
Which purrs, and constantly strives for contact
Only when you are otherwise occupied
And when once you expect the creature to always be
Beneath your heels, it disappears then
With nary a trace; though at some time, in the far unknown;
The wavering future of futures,
You might hear it again; beneath the house, calling loudly
Or find it well hid high up in the rafters, peering down at you
As though to say, it were your very own error
Caused it to be stuck up there, in the first place

And do not try to fathom ever it's mind
Though it can out think and out smart you:
It's loyalties lie deeply hidden, and will only come out
Under a blue moon, in enveloping darkness
Of an odd numbered day, in a leap year; or else any other time
When you least are expecting anything of moment.