|
If talent fields so small a yield,
As seems to be the play,
Then what you see before you here,
Come take it all away.
And what you might suppose is left
Will go to lead a life
Of sorts, a life of worry, debt,
And playing strict to type.
And either way we’re finished with,
But “wither self-respect?”
I’ll whisper cryptic as they leave
Me on the Town Hall steps. |
