I have written a poem.
A poem of poems.
A poem of poetry.
I have instantiated in this world as a poem.
A poem no one wanted to read.
A poem no one even noticed.
Like one flower in one field
on one uninhabited hill.
Still, the sun was warm.
Still, the wind moved and made me dance.
Still, the words came and made me sing.
I have written a poem.
Not this poem.
Can you find it?