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.