Poor Little Poem
Here's the latest, not the greatest;
Just the last in a motley line.
Nevertheless, it’s left the nest,
Seeking its chance to shine.
It’s not easy trying to please
A snooty literary mob.
Should it, by chance, educe a smile,
Well—then it’s done its job.
If not, then it must languish
In the realm of the forgotten—
To turn bitterly resentful,
And grow up mean and rotten.
And so, a little poem’s dreams
You will have cruelly maimed.
There, I hope you’re satisfied.
Now—aren't you ashamed?
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