The days drag by. I fritter
Them away. Old and bitter,
I call my fellow humans apes
And live on a diet of sour grapes.
But what did I expect? Did I think
I'd earn my living with pen and ink?
That everything would be handed to me on a plate?
I'm wiser now but it's too late.
I realise I've missed the boat,
And now my enemies can gloat
While I'm searching for what I'll never find,
That elusive treasure, peace of mind.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I have periods of peace.