There’s little market for the words I write,
but I will compose a poem tonight,
and then I’ll circulate it just for spite,
off’ring for sale the first serial right.

Assuming my text’s not too erudite,
and the language won’t offend or affright
either a six-year-old or troglodyte
and my delivery’s polished and tight,
for a penny a line, you know I might
find an editor with enough foresight
to foster an unpublished neophyte
and grant me success almost overnight.

Although this rate of payment may seem slight,
its acceptance will fill me with delight.
 
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