I wasn\'t really good enough to know
How it felt to master anything.
Enough to make a half-convincing show,
But not enough to make the rafters ring.
Spare a thought for mediocrity.
To be in sight, but never reach the shore.
To come just short of joyous ecstasy,
To do enough, but never to do more.
The curse of journeymen is hard to bear.
To know that all you do is “filling in,”
For those who have a genius crown to wear,
Until the golden ones choose to begin.
To know that they are destined, blessed, and graced,
And you a lesser thing, the muse\'s drone.
Sweat tears and blood, you\'ll never see her face
Look on you with a smile for you alone.
And yet, we work and hope and toil and pray;
The half-graced, til our name passes away.