My hand did shake,
Please read, I pray;
He took my work from me
Each phrase, to slay.
Your trope is tripe,
good sir, he said;
His dismay palpable
the screed, now read.
Please do not share,
nor speak, one bit;
Your writing’s execrable:
your lines, lack wit.
Were such words mine,
oh sad, sad day;
Open flame is called for;
to ash, I say.
Once fire was done,
each page, gone up;
New career does beckon;
the pen, please drop.
