The Lost Poem

I once wrote a poem in German,
It rhymed and it didn’t sound bad,
The teacher said it was a good ’un,
Because of that po’m I was glad.

Die Vogelein, that was its title,
A poem about a small bird,
Not much of one, only a trifle,
Now I can’t remember a word.

I wish I could find it. Forever
That small verse is lost to the world,
It wasn’t partic’larly clever,
But that poem gave me a thrill,

Because I can’t speak any German,
Or French, they’ve both faded with time,
I never did try hard to learn ’em,
And anyway, that was my prime.

Now, as I grow steadily older
I think of that poem I lost,
It’s something I always will treasure,
Though now it is only a ghost.

Now’days I write po’ms very easy,
I might write a dozen a week,
They’re some of them brilliant, some sleazy,
But none of their verse is unique

Because they are all writ in English,
Die Vogelein ne’er said goodbye,
But Auf Wiedersehen: I’ll relish
And miss that verse now till I die.

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