Creativity And Madness Poem by Mark Heathcote

Louis Wain had his paw bent on painting
and drawing the most wonderful things
he had an-eye-for the mischievous and fun
he liked a Persian cat for its distinctive blue eyes
and a tabby for its coat of Bengal orange fur
he'd paint cats, play cricket or shoot a 12bore gun
there's no surprise we all concur
the man found fame but had to economize
cause he wasn't a man of business, not at all.
He was a misfit hairball, a canvas without a coverall.
And tragedy became a pivotal force
the loss of his, dear wife of course
was never to leave him, nor catastrophe
and heartbreak were the cornerstones
of his dear poor life, which led him into poverty,
and later on, insanity sent him to the cattery,
no not-the-cattery the pauper's asylum.
Because financially he-was-ruined
but the public's affection saved him,
they raised the money to send him to Bethlem,
where he painted mirrors at Christmas time
and learned to love, again the eccentricity
the creativity, the frivolity of his passion and art.