A name slipping off my tongue
A folk left merely unsung
Astray with faith and narrow with heart
An esthetic; but misconceived ergo stung.
The quality of brio labels your worth
Your name wasn't given at your birth
Defeat the ire, be your name
Laugh, dear bozo, enjoy the mirth.
Cerebrate, cogitate, turnaround your epithet
Now you are nothing but just a cadet–
Of barbarous consequences of existence
Your sketch is nothing but a vignette.
Be as brisk as joy
Or rather try to be Delacroix
Melancholy isn't the itinerary of passion
Let us forestall to be coy.