The hat you wear is green, perched on your head —
a beacon there for all the world to see.
You could have worn a yellow one instead;
both hats would show your colours glaringly.
So brightly did they glare I turned my eyes:
Fluorescent emblems beaming tastelessly.
True art should only be what beautifies.
No artist wears such hats so gracelessly.
I don’t know why you wear those hats with pride;
for jealousy and cowardice are moche.
Of talent in “your” realm you’re terrified.
To boost your ego, other’s gifts you quash.
What happened in your life to make you so?
Is generosity so hard to show?
© Alan Morrison, 2013