All right, I admit it. I did it. It's true.
But you'd do it too, if you knew what I knew.
"Writing, my pet, is the name of my game,"
She said as she patted and petted my mane.
"Nay, nay, nay," I said and pretended to care.
"But I have to admit a secret, my mare."
"All that I write comes just from one place."
"It's the from the slush pile bin at Miss Snark's base."
That was it. I could take it no more.
So, I bucked and I bucked 'till her arm hit the floor.
I had to. She's bad. She stole my book:
101 Ways For A Perfect Horse Look.
Lying aground, looking at me like a darkling,
"Oh well," she said. "It could be worse; I could be an unpublished snarkling."