Nya-nyaaa-nyaaaa

Well, I wrote a fresh short story, full of pithy, quirky prose

But I never sent it to you; I knew you’d turn up your nose

And the poem I concocted, light as air, but so divine

There’s no way I’d show it to you: you’d reject it ‘cause it’s mine

And the one-act play that I composed, the dialogue fast and snappy

You’ll never get the merest glimpse; I’ll bet you’d find it sappy

And my screenplay? Hold your breath – it isn’t for the likes of you

Ditto for my brilliant novel and my three novellas too

Oh you’re missing out, I hope you know, someday you’ll surely rue

All that brilliant, cracking prose of mine I never showed to you

And the kudos I’d have brought you, and the handsome royalties

(And I never will forgive you though you beg me pretty-pleeeaase)

You blew it sky-high, buddy; you had your chance, but no!

(All you had to do was spot my genius and then tell me so)

But you spoiled it in that one line you wrote so callously:

I read your work with interest, but regret it’s not for me