Oh, Muse, bemused me, no true self have I Many a-mask have fallen to paint me My canvas is contrite and still I lie And, oh, for Fortune youβre denied to see What foul bristles wash and stroke mien anew Today was blue, yester a shade gayer, Tomorrow, expect my art gift to you Quick, more pastels! New friends, another layer But, like any piece, Time wills it βway fade. And perfection tainted by the past one, Please ask yourself, who amongst is not made? And whose vibrant colors have not mixed dun? Come, letβs look on at my new piece, So the patrons of my art ever increase.