Thieves thick and slick
Sneak swarthy flames
Into my dungeon deep

Parlay my playing cards
Drink clam chowder
Chortle the chortle
Of young girls

They pilfer the porters
Fill orders and leave
Them to lie
Paid well for their silence

I see my self-portrait in
Their satchel exposed
And stop them stout
Staring into what I thought
Was a mirror I let them go catching
The sight of it again to note

It was a plain painting and a
Pain tingled my craned neck and
Pointed finger

My past thought lost
I would not applaud their tiny taste
In art I called
The Colonel