Poorer

The unravelled tapestry

The song sung unaccompanied

The unfinished symphony

The composer chasing the wrong notes

The valley wasted on the artist

The dreamer too tired to sleep

The writer picking only last will and testament

From a lifetime of words.

All have joined the ranks

Though they well find neither death or glory here,

For this is the time to put our backs into it,

To put clothes on our backs

And food on the table,

And we are all the poorer for that.