Tho critics flay me and the censors sneer,
'Twere better so, than praises on my bier.
And so we walk life's slender rope till, bing!
We slip and fall or someone cuts the string.
Ambition lures us, but the pinkest peach
Is always just beyond us, out of reach:
And when, at last, we think we are in line
To cross the threshold, lo! the Full House sign.
We never quite obtain the golden urn
Tho rainbows beckon every way we turn.