I have already succumbed to the burgeoning knowledge that my endeavors will come to naught,
Prose, song, story, photography, bouquet,
Beget not the notoriety I had, in truth, craved.
But let that disappointing greed be of bygone days-
Perhaps in future I will grow content to lay with what
My arts instill in me, solely
If I regain heart enough to craft, to sing, to wit-
For myself, only.