I am sometimes asked why I write verse. The answer is because I can’t sing, or play the piano. A three chord country song on the ukulele stretches my talent. And so I am left with words.

Let me tell you, I say, let me tell you, you hear

How it all died aborning, my music career

I played Die Walkure, but was rudely thrown out

I played it in English, without the umlaut

Figaro I sang with sore throat and much heart

But they said not to put the hoarse before Mozart

I sang Massenet standing next to piano

And was yanked off the stage, I was not a soprano

Sick unto death, disappointed, I curse

The notes are the problem, I’ll stick to the verse

So that’s why you see me alone in the night

Writing rhymes till all hours, praying only for light

My tombstone is written, my full epitaph

My life in a nutshell, I’ll cry if not laugh

For chiseled in stone, to be seen for all time

Are the words Only fault was he just liked to rhyme