The little people of this earth
are those who measure rate and worth
of labor, sweat, and blood.
They look at art and call it mud,
they puncture life to draw out blood,
they live life as a leech.
They make reviews of inspired speech,
they talk of art and think they teach,
they flow not with life's flood.
They crush great passion in the bud,
they see fine art and call it dud,
they should be shot at birth.