Habitually trusting the people around,
Accepting everything at its face value,
Till you're distracted by an unusual sound,
Look up and take notice of others;
Engrossed in yourself as time passes away,
Sleeping silently, downwind and out of sight,
Nothing disturbs, not even night giving way to day,
You don't lift a paw to end a proximal fight;
Your wastage of time seems callous and selfish,
Your muses change every half hour,
And never do you think of the past gone by,
You seem to shun every power;
But when you have a muse influential,
Your laziness disappears like it never was,
And actions reek of thoughts prudential,
Energetic, industrious: your lazy self a mirage;
You abhor the pigs for their sleazy habits,
The dogs seem boring and distant,
The sheep are bystanders, you take no notice,
Though your thoughts and moods are never consistent;
Logic is your forte, as much as the raven's,
But emotions shuttle you not un-frequent,
You're referred to as selfish and the heathens,
And made out by others to be delinquent;
You dream colourfull dreams,
Vividly imaginative and full of striking images,
Even when awake, you're in a dream,
As your mind goes through the book of life, flipping its pages;
These dreams feed your creative side,
For reality seems dull, much too often,
You look upon your creations with immense pride,
And a mention of them causes your feelings to soften;
Often you leave tasks incomplete,
Running away to do something better,
Your muses change, your energy and patience deplete,
Unless you find inspiration new, your focus does fritter;
Once that happens, 'tis back to a sleepy state,
Slothing as if under influence of opiates,
But this isn't something to berate,
A topic not open for debate;
You are the dreamers of dreams,
Lonely and pained, needing someone who despises
You, You sit by rivers and desolate streams,
Hoping for another one of love's reprises.
