I am neither smart, nor wise; The maths on paper slip through Like lives creased by seeping vice, And then my art is less than few, Yet, my children run so freely, I look beyond but I see no thought, Like rabbits they roam free in haste, Surviving, oui, but these graced lot Fathom not my words so faint and still, They chew their gums readily a lot, Yet know not what come to teeth so ill! But having lived, and knowing fausses dents, These are the times I sacrifice one last try, And I sit down with my children in tents A doughnut with the finest pie. These are the smiles I live ere I die! The chalice I hold, the cup of joy implant! Nor the seeking joys of old long deny, For I have breathed death and exhaled want.