In a city, a high rise harbors a party full of self pity.
Never discovered - talent sitting on a shelf with an odd identity -
losing the race, you feel like the new Rom Mitney.
Pity is easy, go deep enough and you’ll be in a crater, sandy and gritty.
Sulking at failed history,
not learning from past history,
could make your efforts - forgotten history.
Pack your ditty bag,
put on your bootstraps,
and pull up the confidence that tends to sag.
The next time surrender comes looking for those to tag,
you will look it in the eyes and say, ‘That white rag -
I wiped my ass - yeah, rode that donkey to find you,
I now ride with a confident flag!’