‘Novel’ Pain – A Poetic Memoir

I wasn’t poor, being not rich 

Life was fine, thanks to hope 

All that changed, owing to muse, 

With one ‘novel’ passion pure

Affairs I had, twelve of them 

Unknown to the lovers of books,

Cold-shouldered by publishing folk 

Manuscripts those twelve make pillows 

In my bed to cause nightmares,

With hope dead, I can’t dream

Now I’m poor, robbed of hope. 

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This was penned before I placed the 'twelve' in the public domain as free ebooks