Lucius Sulla Poems

Eclipsin' the sun, with the moon blue,
Traipsin' off the path beaten, true,
He's got the world in an empty can,
Sadly nowhere is the Journey Man.
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‎'Twas after a long day's squall,
Quaffed, by the hilly shore,
Comes a time, when y'all,
See the sea a little sore,
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Tell me, o dilettantes,

And august savants,
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Of painting a precocious picture,

The artist's mind hath no stricture.
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