Whatever shall I do
with my pinks and my blues
while the sun on the sea is like fire.
I'll while away
for a year and a day
with gestures that ne'er seem to tire.
For to give of oneself,
one's soul and all wealth,
is reputed to be most noble.
But covered in paint
I see all that I ain't
and it's then that I feel most in trouble.
For a life incomplete
is bound to repeat
while pursuing a pathway to riches.
And what you will find
if you pay it some mind
is that life is best lived in the ditches.
in which the author flitters through flights of fantasy