My crown was pawned a long time ago,
A poet need these laurels, tell me why?
They didn't give me much, you know,
A glass, a bit of food — the Moor gets by.
The lunch is over — time to start my art,
I rhy-me ar-a-oo-nd eve-ry-things su-b-mit,
The poetry inside ignites their heart,
It threw together: the knit and the grit —
Purr kittens, a crowd of zoomers' mittens,
Police heat, a cornered deputy hit,
Deficit, they scream, he stole a bit,
He skimmed it all again — they will acquit...
“You're talented!” my drinking buddies admit.