PenWomanShip

Now I sit me down to write.
My head I scratch; my nails I bite.
The clock is chiming half-past ten,
I heave a sigh, begin again.

Now I rub my aching head,
The clock strikes twelve; my eyes are red.
My page reads "The," and nothing more.
My cozy bed I must ignore.

Now to sleep I go at last.
My expectations I've surpassed.
For I have made my goal today.
"Another word!" I think. "Hurray!"

Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray my full-time job to keep.
"Or better yet," my silent plea,
"Somebody to publish me."