David was born in a dreary wee spot
By the side of the mill in the dabbler's lot
His dad was a dabbler, all his long life
And his mother excelled as a dabbler's wife
When he grew to adulthood they 'prenticed him quick
Til he earned his diploma and dabbling stick

All day he would labour, at this and at that
In the tinkerer's workshop, upright or out flat
But his sunny demeanor was waxing and cracked
As in secret, he yearned for a thing which he lacked
For a life with out borders, impulsive and free
Where he'd live as a dolphin and leap through the sea

His mother had cried when he told of his dream
And his father was dead set against the whole scheme
There were tantrums, rebuttals and guilt trips galore
But young David was stubborn and made for the door
For the safety and warmth of the bus out of town
With a confident furrow entrenched in his frown

He tarried in places with odd sounding names
And confounded the groom of a good many dames
There were taverns and zoos where they'd shoot him on sight
So he took to decamping by cover of night
The journey was arduous, torrid and bleak
But he made it to Blackpool just shy of a week

The pier was bustling, jammed to the brink
But our David was not one to buckle or blink
He charged at the crowd with a deafening wail
They scattered, retreated and showed him their tail
When stood on the edge and admiring the weather
He casually cling-filmed his ankles together

Now hopping along like a fish out of water
He dived to his dream like a lamb to the slaughter
The moral should not be too taxing to spot
Be content with whatever you've currently got
Because sometimes a cloud is just low flying steam
And the universe gives not a crap for your dream

Washed up on the beach with a terminal chill
Lies Delusional David of Dabbler's Hill