Do you remember that time when I spent an hour or so
working on a poem
and it turned out to be Neil Diamond’s "America"?
You probably don’t, because I didn’t show it to anybody.
It was kind of embarrassing.
Why didn’t I notice it sooner?

How long did I go down that rabbit hole
before realizing it belonged to some other rabbit entirely?
I’m not one to bite on anybody else’s carrots!

Oh, hell! I’m a carrot-nibbler from way back!
There’s a piece I wrote called "Carrots I Have Nibbled,"
but I don’t think I showed that to anyone, either
so you can forget about it, too.

Anyone got any gold I could steal?