A Vision Complete

I'll spend all this time on something, without breaking for lunch, for no other reason than a vision drawn up right.  If not perfectly written (with care and precision) then it won't take-off (-flight).  Oh! A vision complete, but nothing in the distance.  I've had my share, but never a one that could anyone unlatch, open, and bear to see what I've seen and what it says of me:


That I might be an ass; that I'm selfish, getting fat and deserve it; at the end of the day, over dinner, in the face I was searching, that it once had been kind but that I'd never found the time to preserve it.


It's all on me. She fell to me especially.  I'm a lucky man with a patient one beside me.  To lay her bare is such a pity.  At least I hope to make it witty.  You never know what I might say--I'm not writing to please my family.


The woman would hold me still,  with "It's wittier when we say--I'm not writing to feed my family."


Though she might have a point, and I'll change it in the morning, I know this:  She had slaved through the day, and the dinner that she laid was ambitious, but the roast, to be clear, wasn't witty either, dear.  And I'll be bold enough to say--You're not cooking to please our family.


And I might be an ass, but I'm ass enough to act like a wise one.  And I might lack a wit, but I'm half enough to finish the trifle.  But my words, to be fair, are precise and though I care, you never know what I might say--I'm not writing to please my family.