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Portrait of the Artist as a Lone Tree


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Nature calls but once a year,
and milk is spilt where angels fear
to tread, but stitches nine in time
for punishment, will fit the crime.

Two early worms can bush the birds,
and all good things are louder than words.
In for a penny, out for a pound,
yet all that glitters makes no sound.

The workman blames his smart new broom,
which sweeps the rolling moss to doom.
But if to blow your trumpet’s clever,
think - it’s better safe than never!

Glass houses throw no stones or sticks;
let beggars choose to count the chicks.
No plaice like home, where’er you wander;
abstinence makes the heart grow fonder!

Behold! Skin deep the beauteous eye,
So make your bed, but never lie.
And if it's on a star you wish,
this is the day to seize the fish!

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