Mishap While Painting a Dahlia on Rice Paper
“Out, out, damned spot. I like you not,” I said.
I added legs and then a dot.
A sort of head,
A set of wings.
I studied the result (a bug)
And uttered my opinion (ugh).
“This bee is not to be,” I said.
“I’ll make a butterfly instead.”
The more I drew, the more it grew
And grew until the spot was worse
And drew from me a muttered curse.
“Out, out, yon butterfly,” I said,
Crisply chopping off its head and
Cropping quite a bit of dahlia.
Shit! My effort was a failyah.
"The hour is late; I’m going to bed," I said.
I put my sumi brush away
And vowed I’d try again one day.