I knew a scholar from long ago,
Always did his wisdom show.
Years of pondering, shattered dreams,
Led him to sewing, thread and seams.
Being a tailor didn't quite suit him,
So watch out woodcraft, and fallen limb!
But splinters from wood was discouragement,
And then he began cooking with much mint.
His vision failed and he was soon too old,
So he gave cooking up and made jewelry with a mold.

"Wisdom, eh?" you may have asked,
But sure enough, it wasn't masked.
Though his interests came and went,
His wisdom was, no doubt Divinely sent.
The world got much from his creative skills,
But where are his many books and quills?
A scholar is made by his books and scrolls
As much as one needs 98 broken bowls.
Wisdom doesn't come the more you read,
It comes even harder when one has greed.

This scholar had plenty that he couldn't do,
He couldn't read or write or put on his shoe.
Aye, that's what was told,
This scholar couldn't read for gold.
Before he passed on, he told me one thing.
He told me so that of it I might sing.
"Life is a work of art, and you only have one chance,
So live it full - you don't need a partner to dance."
Scholars come in many shapes and sizes,
I hope you have wisdom to see past their guises.

Penned by my hand on the 23rd of Khepary, in the year 138 MA.