I’ve only done a little here and there
in all my years — not a thing outstanding.
Once upon a time I think I cared
but now that I am old I’m less demanding.

I don’t believe  I could have handled fame —
I’m glad  I didn’t even have to try.
I get by, though no one knows my name
except some neighbors.  There’s no need to cry.

When it’s over what will people say?
“Well, he was — he isn’t anymore.
He was OK . With words he liked to play.
He didn’t do a thing that we deplore.”

Perhaps I’ll leave the world a little sonnet.
Fourteen lines?  I’ll have to think about it.

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