Though imitation’s the sincerest form of flattery
Why was my situation tearful and all jittery
When plagiarism struck me with its keen-barbed dart
And plunged uncaringly right in my heart?
Why was I so incensed and filled with bitterness
When someone stole my words, perhaps in innocence?
That someone liked my words should make me pleased.
So why do I feel riddled and dis-eased?
But, no, I’ll soothe myself, on wise reflection,
If I can perceive alternative intentions
As I consider no malicious act was meant
To steal my verse, only take it as a compliment.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem