If I were a lettuce I'd be wilted
If I were speech I'd be stilted
If I were a spud I'd be mashed
If I were a hope I'd be dashed

I think you now get the picture
Though there's no frame
there's no oil
there's no paint
if turps were applied to my surface
the marks left behind would be faint
the person that bubbled through
pores in the skin
is nowhere
to be found
to be seen
the sparkle has sparked
the fire has been doused
and the motor's
burnt out on the green .................

Have you guessed that I'm feeling downhearted?
that sadness has found home in my heart?
that I'm gloomy and glum
absolutely no fun
sucking grey out of clouds
to hold near ?
unable to smile
to run
skip
or jump
and the reason ?
... well that isnt clear !