My dying pen made a last request,
Let me not finish jotting sums
Of whether we can afford ink and bread,
Or just the first, and chew on our gums.
Let my last deed be to write in verse
These dying words, then be sent to my hearse,
Then laid to rest, secured within
The warmth of the glamorous general waste bin.
I apologise for the lack of a long poem. I hope that this will suffice for now – what my pen lacks in nobility, it makes up for with its noble life, and written most of the poems for the past month. But it is running out of ink, so we must bid it farewell.
The Hapless Neo-Romantic