By Dave Freedman
Oh, I hoped to be a writer
And wield a mighty pen.
If only my prose were tighter,
A writer I’d have been.
Well, my penmanship’s not sloppy,
But upon me it’s incumbent
To tighten up my copy
And be much less redundant.
My grammar, it’s precisely
Correct and quite precise.
But I’d do so much more nicely
If I wouldn’t say things twice.
If I would be constrained
To singularly averring,
I’d merrily refrain
From repetitively referring.
But I cannot seem to master
The art of being concise.
And I’d improve a whole lot faster
If I wouldn’t say things twice.
But whenever I’ve created
A sentence full of thunder,
It had to be restated
Immediately thereunder.
Yes, whenever I’ve asserted
A sentence all aglow,
It had to be reworded
Immediately below.
I just can’t bear deleting
My duplicative quotes.
My sin, it bears repeating,
Is reiterated notes.
Oh, I hoped to be a writer;
That once was my ambition.
My future’d seem much brighter
But for the repetition.
© 1997 Dave Freedman