The Plagiarist

I plucked a fern from Dylan's hill,
cut the 'H' from Ginsberg's 'Howl',
nicked some lines from R McGough,
regurgitated them wholesale.

I robbed a phrase from Mr Hughes,
drowned it in Bukowski's booze,
Billy Blake , he was the boy,
filled my poems with infant joy.

Adrian Mitchell was my man,
I told more lies about Vietnam,
I thieved whole poems from Robert Frost,
and for my crimes, I paid the cost.

The Poetry Cops , they took me in,
took my statement , locked me up,
I was charged with idea theft,
a silent poet, of words bereft!.