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.