You have thirty percent too many pages
I have been working on this novel for ages
Six hundred pages double spaced
Two hundred have to be erased
Poetry you cut out You's those and Me's
Put cuts in my novel puts me on my knees
At what point of time does a man give up?
It's two in the morning Mom fill up my cup
That that has gone in has to be weeded out
The chaff and the grain mixed in pouring spout
Who is it who says writing is not really work?
No amount of rewrite does a writer shirk
And being one of one percent successful is the perk