My Egoist

by Clive James and Pete Atkin

The garden was in bloom, my egoist
The light was right, the show was very brave
You simply had to shy your hat away and rave
Because the colours looked so gay

The garden was your home, my egoist
You grew blasé, you asked "What else is new?"
Or perhaps it crushed your spirit it was all for you
And the surroundings were too plush

The garden felt your loss, my egoist
And what it gained were others not your kind
At first the heavy-handed came and finally the blind
Until nothing looked the same

The garden is alone, my egoist
They've all flown on, the butterflies of day
And nothing now takes flight above this sad display
Except the butterflies of night