They thought to hold a contest for
The grandest forms of portraiture
To accommodate the talent-free
And cash in on celebrity.
So the call to paint was made,
A grateful nation’s light and shade
Was wielded and the packing crates
Swept in as if on roller skates.
The problem was, the open field
Like an open mind, often concealed
Hard work forsworn, the sweat that stings
And shows the empty state of things.
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