He’s tall and slinky, but don’t be mistaken,
He has the charm of a large hungry kraken.
Your words he’ll devour, left right and center
And gerunds and gerundives will fly from his tower.
“You split the infinitive,” he’ll moan out loud.
“And the tense of your MS is under a cloud.”
You think splitting the infinitive is not as much fun,
As splitting the atom right under his … seat.
He phones you at midnight, when your defenses are down
And you stutter and fumble and sound like a clown.
He declares Sally the yak, might run and leap,
but it’s beyond her power to drive the pink jeep.
Edward dies in a plane crash in chapter four,
But ten sees him blithely run through the door.
Oh how could you make such a huge mistake?
And you weep, sob and moan till daybreak.
“Fear not, oh writer,” the kraken announces,
And for one fearful moment he looks ready to pounce.
“I’m here to advise you, lend a hand and assist,
get rid of your faux pas, glitches and unsightly messes.”
“You need my help to see this through,
to make sure you show instead of just tell
For though you may think I’m a heartless predator,
I’m really and truly, your loving editor.
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