Events dear boy. The dead rat in the road
a bomb; the stupid random screw
derails career. Fathers a bastard too
a painter of repute. Nothing is owed
to reason. Fortune giggles turns her wheel
And yet we try we must to work it right
fire waits and after fire dead dusty night.
Sometimes our foe our own excessive zeal
justice that trips our feet. And sometimes sloth
We did not make that meeting. Or were late
Things turned to dirt on that specific date
angry or tired or something maybe both.
And yet we try. It is not through our will
Best comes. We hope we help it somehow still.