The Good Fight

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delivery’s polished and tight, for a penny a line, you know I might find an editor with enough foresight to foster an unpublished neophyte and grant me success almost overnight.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.