The Arts.

Of those who act it is a fact
That some are polygamous
That we who etch,or sculpt and sketch
Have certain ways that dam us.
Our love is often pitch and toss
Our marriages disaster
We very seldom gather moss
And poverty’s our master
We poets too! alack and whew!
The very curse of writing verse
Perhaps has addled-brained us
And led us on to drink or worse
As though the devil trained us.
We’re full of indiscretions
Of mortal tome we’re bare as bone
We really are outrageous
For rhyme and crime in every time
We’re always analogous
You maybe sure the man impure
Played harps or Flutes or tooted toots
Or banged a grand piano
Pf all the arts not one imparts
The truly Christian leaven
Yet me thinks, with all their kinks
We’re very close to heaven

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Tags:

poem, arts and whimsy