But still, he blames
The Flemish
For the reviews –
A splash unnoticed,
Not even front page news,
Just drama in an empty house,
Tragedy undetected.
While ploughmen
Plod along the pit,
The player is neglected.
His ears still ring with hisses;
His neck still feels the cane.
In muffled wet soliloquy,
He soggily declaims,
“Remember, master Bruegel
And your ilk, before you
Stroked me dead to please a guild,
Before you made me food for fish
And fixed my legs in blue,
Commanders of opinion, think on this:
Before I fell,
I flew.
