I’ve got a poem in my pocket
Cos I’ve heard that today is the day
That the poets are planting a poetry seed
Just a verse you can pull from your pocket and read
If conditions are right, it could grow like a weed
If conditions are right, well, it may

I’ve got a poem in my pocket
Could be Silverstein, Kipling, or Frost
Could be Angelou, Dickinson, Cummings, or Yeats
Neruda, or Hughes—there are so many greats—
Or that William McGonagall everyone hates
And whose poetry should have been lost

I’ve got a poem in my pocket
And I see that you carry one, too
So we’ll search out a spot where there’s adequate light
And pull out our poems and begin to recite
And the people who hear us will smile with delight
Or they’ll cry, because sometimes they do.

I’ve got a poem in my pocket
Though the truth is, I know it by heart
So I’ll study your eyes while you lend me your ear
And I’ll look for a twinkle, or maybe a tear
It’s a poetry day, not a poetry year…
But you know… it’s a pretty good start

Today, in the US, it is National Poem in your Pocket day. And this is one of the very few of my own verses that I have committed to memory. (Well… the way I had it memorized was off by a couple of lines, actually, and sounded better that way, so I changed them here.)