Hail the Throne
You sit upon me all the time
as you compose your latest rhyme.
Yet, you never deign to admit,
it's - what's the word? No, that's not it.
It's time you give me some credit.
Yet, I never make the final edit.
Consider me a hero, unsung,
on which the taint of disregard is flung.
It comes from high, it comes from low.
Don't compare me to driven snow.
It is a thankless job for sure,
so, I wouldn't use that metaphor.
Your poetry makes your guest vomit?
Sure - use me, but don't use Comet.
I ask you with an ironic smile,
Won't you clean me once in a while?
It's time this missive comes to an end,
your disrespected ceramic friend.
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