I held a pen and wrote my words and rhymes,
So people can freely access my thought,
Thus they read my worst and my best of times,
And praised my seclusion that came to float.
I held a brush and touched a canvas white,
So passers by can behold my deep shades,
Around my shades they saw my hues so bright,
Then praised my art and colourful cascades.
I sat and stroke the keys of perfect strings,
And with their melodious song I flew,
So all heedful ears heard my beating wings,
And then praised my soul, that they never knew.
Yet when all my expressions, did leave me,
People turned their faces, and despised me !
