To Be Famous
I think that I’d like to be famous,
although there’s not much that I’ve done.
I’m certainly no ignoramus,
but talents, I find, I’ve got none.
There’s nothing I’ve ever accomplished:
not painted, nor written, nor drawn.
No, nothing I’ve started is finished,
And frankly my life is a yawn.
But wouldn’t it be a sensation
to earn everybody’s acclaim
And travel to every last nation,
and bask in the glory of fame?
If only my skills were prodigious
instead of – like now – quite banal,
since no one’s considered prestigious
accomplishing nothing at all.