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.

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