Satirical Sonnets – #1: To Write, Perchance to Sell

So simple ‘tis now to publish a novel,

One writes it, uploads it, and dreams of wealth.

No more shall I have to sweat and grovel

From Monday to Friday, (or idle with stealth).

 

I penned mine last month and ‘twas easy enough,

The chapters poured forth as if willed by fate.

I published at once without fear of rebuff,

Now hand in my notice? Or better to wait?

 

Daily I hoped for discerning readers

To gasp at my subtle though breathtaking art.

In vain did I wait for the tight-fisted bleeders

To buy my creation and gladden my heart.

So while I return to my dull office files,

My oeuvre lies sunk in the virtual

slush

pile.

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