I could smell fame and greatness coming since I was the smallest child.
I was never built for your tiny version of events.
I smelled the potions in the dew, 
The spell-telling roses twining round the terebinth, teashur and tamarisk trees…

All the verve the Vivacaine had lent—couldn’t half match me.
And yet here I am, holding all your hours…
And here I am, Ophelia fresh out of flowers…

Be a star wherever they will let you.