false modesty follows me about

like a gun dog blinded and deafened by doubt

eating scraps at a sumptuous feast

of no real use to man or beast.

 

It feels like to be or not to be

my lesser shadow dogging me,

as I secretly sift through hidden gems

that my own worst critic often condemns

 

the accursed gun dog is always to hand

with its back towards the promised land.