You've mayhap heard of the starving artist
But what of the starving poet
She's certainly by no means the smartest
Her misfortune, to timing, she owes it

If the stars were aligned a bit sooner
She'd have lots in the bank to rely on
As it is, on the cd, a crooner
Is lamenting; so off to the bar for a tie on

As poetry is a profession for few
A salary from it is hardly expected
Yet it would be peachy to not be sans sous
And not let the finer things go long neglected

So while she toils on a pleth'ra of things
Should you care to employ her, she would
Be most gracious for what that may bring
To help fuel the fire for her greater good

 

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