The book is read, the huntress said,
So now has come the time
To jot things down as they come 'round —
And try to make it rhyme!
I want to play, she said today,
My entrance should go great!
I'll be so crass they'll bite my a**
Until it's very late!
"I hate to scold, my three-year-old,
But where got you that mouth?!
To you I've taught nothing so naught,"
I said with heart gone south.
She sneered, "Well fine! I'll make it mine,
Whate'er you write for me.
But I won't beg — just find a keg
To soothe my unnerved knee."
I said I would, and took the goods
Requir'd to make it work.
She had it wrong, but it'd been so long —
At least she's not a jerk.