Sometimes we don't realize where our hidden talent lies. Is it the class or size of the work we do.

The Artist

I ain’t much of an artist but an amature bracket,
Didn’t cost nothing , so I thought I might crack it,

I’d never tried a contest so I submitted me a pair,
Of my abstract paintings for the Fresno Fair,

They were cowboy scrawls, with ten gallon hats,
Spurs and chaps and stuff like that,

Kinda mixed up colors , but they put me in a class,
Called Door Wise Group, and my stuff would pass,

Hey man I’d arrived ; I was feeling pretty good,
Till I heard just for what that Door Wise stood,

If you bought these paintings from the sale room floor,
You’d be wise to hang‘em behind the bathroom door,

I shoulda been insulted , but I saw this clerk,
Standing with a couple just a looking at my work,

A lady with a young boy , he mighta been thirteen,
They were arguing about a couple ,they couldn’t choose between,

One was a painting of a farmer,s Combine,
The other was a big ol’glossy one of mine,

I tried getting closer to hear what the lady said,
Pride of accomplishment was going to my head,

Man I felt good , they were gonna buy my thing,
I really was an Artist, my praises they would sing,

Then the lady said, “Johnny, I know it’s just a scrawl,
But it’ll cover all three holes in your bedroom wall !”