The Boy Who Never Finished Anything
a ballad
There once was a boy named Patrick,
Though he never went past the ‘t’.
All through his life, whatever he tried,
He always left incomplete.
At first it was just his suppers,
Rejecting the last bits to eat.
Then it was his drawings,
Always with strokes left unseen.
“Oh why, oh why, my poor boy?”
His mother, who loved him, did plead.
“Why do you not follow through,
How can you let it all be?”
The years ran on, and Pat went along,
Omitting the ends of each feat.
The books he’d stop reading, his projects half-done,
unfinished, piled up at his feet.
His dreams were full of riches and fame,
A well-spent life, on a golden seat…
But tried as he might, no matter the plight,
He always fell short of the peak.
Romances sparked and started,
filled with potential, replete…
But then Pat’s habit would surface once more,
And gone with the wind he would be.
Into his twilight Pat went,
his time in the world all spent…
Then did he reflect, on all left unsaid,
undone, unwritten, unread…
But then his old habit said “Nay, my friend!”
And he rose from his hospital bed.
Pat never died, to this life he is tied;
on and on, it repeats.
He’ll wander the Earth, on a fruitless search,
Doomed never to feel comple
