A Writer’s Wish
If I could pen a scribble here
To readers that would pay me dear
I’d slide up quick off my soft rear
And run to my computer where
My bony cat in basket sits
He eats not fish but old prune pits
For small I’m paid for written wits.
But if, perchance, I could succeed
To get a president to lead
Me through his tale of slippery greed
And naughty things we want to read
I’d see success at my feet laid
My cat now fat, and me well paid.
Here’s to all my writer friends tonight. May we all have “cats now fat.”