No one worries about you and me
What we are is in our own thoughts you see
For certain written words pass on by
She who sees with the Raven's eye
For we wait to see who will critique our work
And when we received even one it is a perk
But pages flow on by with thoughts of others
In poetic style these are sisters and brothers
Some cry of pain and the losing of old lovers
Rejection would be better than not read at all
As we wait by the mail and an Editors call
One week, a month and then a half a year
Then we know in reality as proposals disappear