The Spy

This poem is not a poem,
Or a harmless little ode.
It’s a secret communication -
A message sent in code.

For I’ve been in deep cover,
Controlled and in the pay
Of a certain foreign power
In a country far away.

Each week I transmit secrets
In poems that I write,
Which other agents then decode,
Working day and night.

This espionage I’ve carried on,
In poems, one after another.
Undetected now, for years –
Damn! I’ve blown my cover!