(From the perspective of Watson)

Symphony No. 4 in G minor

Oh Lord!
I seem to be a bard, I say to myself
As I feel inspiration well up in me
To recount the tales of our adventures
Like an African elder telling the village youth a parable.

Oh Lord!
I seem to be a novelist or poet, I say to myself
As I sit with a dripping pen
Pushing words about in a sentence
Like toy boats in a Hampstead Heath pond.

Oh Lord!
I seem to be a historian, I say to myself
As I chronicle our adventures
In words of magnificence and delight
Like Homer wrote of Odysseus.

Oh Lord!
I seem to be a folklorist, I say to myself
As I review the notes I've taken
Of giant hounds, "vampires," and pygmies;
Like the Grimms-brothers, I collect fairy-tales.

Oh Lord!
I seem to be a psychologist, I say to myself
As I find myself engaged in psychoanalysis
Of the people we meet, classifying them,
Like Freud or Jung, into archetypes.

Oh Lord!
I seem to be a priest, I say to myself
As I offer up words of support
For those who approach me with sins on their tongues
Like I have the power to absolve them.

Oh Lord!
I seem to be a detective, I say to myself
As I realize all these interrelate
For my personality is complex and rich
Like that of my friend, Mr. Holmes.