My penmanship and judgements
Were perfectly flawless,
But they disliked my standings,
So I didn’t get into office.
By the board of judges
I was first twisted and then failed:
They washed away all my ‘dirts’
And looked for 'scabs and scars'
Of my neat writing style. . .
It is certainly indeed
That each one relates to fate—
This winter I’m going to try again
And we will see then.
Like a blind guy who shoots
At the eye of a sparrow,
My chances to hit the mark
Are still 'not too bad,' I dare guess.
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Ron