Pointy Poems

What can I say? It’s rather twee

This ‘Fairy Door’ afoot a tree

But all the same it’s so well done

The thought, the craft, the sense of fun

The artist could have signed their name

And owned the praise that freely came

But no, the unknown maker’s mute

No seeker, they, of wide repute

No virtue-signals here, my friend

The work itself was its own end