A penny a page
was all that was paid to
the scrivener of yore
who haughtily gave
the appearance of
a gilded gentleman
behind his parapet
of paper and ink.
He was so distal
to the wealthy that
he served
that nary a trace
of what he penned for them
could ever be
applied to him.
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4 comments:
Your first attempt is worthy of the Poefusion stamp. Seriously, I enjoyed reading this very much. Keep up the good work. Have a nice day tomorrow.
Forgot to welcome you to Poefusion's Friday 5. So without further adieu, welcome.
Your poem reminds me of Bob Cratchett, working for pennies in Scrooge's shop. Nice use of the words.
Gosh, this is good! Those words were a little difficult for me...you worked wonders with them...
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