I Don't Have A Blue Guitar Poem by Raymond Farrell

I don't have a blue guitar
If I did and could play it
Things would remain the way they are
One can spend their leisure on scrawl
Or with martinis and a fine cigar
But an insurance executive, invariably
Devotes his life to guaranteeing
Things are the way they are
Any drivel on paper may obscure the fact
That reality is not imagined
But he and everyone near and far
Knows the way we act
Is who we really are.