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