But Why?

Some artists create a work

With all their heart and soul,

Transforming blank to beauty,

Making pieces into whole

And then that piece sits waiting

As observers pass it by

And the artist sees them miss it

And his mind just wonders why.

Another artists makes a piece

He knows that he can sell.

He doesn’t mind its content

Or if he can make it well,

But watches as his doodads

Fetch a price he’d call too high

And on his bed of dollar bills

He’s also asking why.

I’m sure a middle artist

Is just making decent bits

To make an honest living

With his fifty-fifty hits

But it seems that feast and famine

Is the rule where art’s concerned

And no one yet can answer why

That’s how the tables turned.