I spend my days in darkest night
My nights in brightest day.
I’ve felt a sorrow’s darkened blight
And joys too great to say.

Creations new and old align
Within my shiny grooves;
Inventions great and small are mine –
Along with many oeuvres.

I make the hist’ry of our times
And others long gone by;
I write down tales of modern crimes,
And ancient heroes’ glory.

I sing the song of all our joy,
The dirge of bitter tears.
I’ve painted maidens young and coy
And monarchs rich in years.

I’ve built cathedrals tall and strong,
Did paint them up and down,
Invented motors, put them on
Machines on which I’ve flown.

I can create and can destroy,
Make statues, music, paintings.
My craftiness, it has been used
In laughter, deaths and saintings.


It’s not for fortune or for fame
I toil and sweat and groan.
All of my effort’s in this name:
Creativity alone.