The Day of
Judgement
This is the Day of Judgement,
The shedding of
Artist-gore
The Hour of Execution.
Within the Gallery
door,
The Judges are passing
judgement,
While I, in the blue-gum
tree,
Am peering thru the
transom
To hear what I can
ÒseeÓ.
Look! Now theyÕre unwrapping my picture
The wonderful work of my
brain,
And wrong-side up on the
easel
It razzles and dazzles in
vain.
ÒWhat is it?Ó asks one of
the judges.
ÒWhat is it?Ó querries all
of the three.
ÒAnimal? Vegetable?
Mineral?
What is it intended to be?Ó
ÒI have it,Ó cries one,
ÒItÕs a camel,
Or a cow, in a meadow of
green,
Chewing the cud of
contentment,
While lo, in her eyes
serene
ÒThat far-away look of
conjecture,
That langÕrous look of
surprise,
Those white foamy tears of
resentment
Flooding her dear old
eyes.
ÒYes, camel or cow or
cow-camel,
Whichever intended to
be,
ItÕs surely the work of
some genius
As anyone can plainly
see.Ó
So upside down they hang
it,
While I, in the blue-gum,
rave,
Hurt sore by their awkward
treatment
Of my first ÒLaguna Wave.Ó