A Labor of Love

I take you down and look you over, you've seen better days. Not so young as you used to be, and you smell musty. I lay you open and begin my examination. I take off your jacket. In all honesty much of your language is extraneous, in need of editing. Simple is as simple does. You're green and moldy, and rough around the edges; you'll need a good rubbing with linseed oil. I close your pages, and put you back on the shelf, a labor of love for another day.