"When the flush of a new-born sun fell first on Eden's green and gold,
Our father Adam sat under the Tree and scratched with a stick in the mould;
And the first rude sketch that the world had seen was joy to his mighty heart,
Till the Devil whispered behind the leaves, "It's pretty, but is it Art?"
from Rudyard Kipling's The Conundrum of the Workshops
|Poetry: Poems of Shame|
|This poem was an attempt to write something so dreadful that the National Library of Poetry would not select it as a semi-finalist. Unfortunately, it was selected and the author thereby given the opportunity to purchase an anthology which would include this work.|