Why post me nice polite reminders that
My literary efforts do not suit,
That flowers of thought that bloom beneath my hat
Just fail to bear remunerative fruit,
That some of my great mental waves are blanks
That warrant only editorial thanks?
Why post me slips - "the E. in C. regrets . . .
When what I crave is editorial cash?
I'd just as soon have nasty epithets
That flail with criticism's pointed lash.
Then, hot with anger, on them I might hang
That stinging verse that goes off with a bang.
These neatly-printed editorial slips
That come to me pinned on rejection screeds,
They buy no roasted beef, or fish and chips.
That might inspire to further metric deeds.
If they were fat receipts for me to sign,
Ah, what unending joy would then be mine!
O Editor, if you must needs decline
To let me in your columns fill some space,
To send regrets coincident with mine
Would surely be a gesture fraught with grace.
Rejection's pangs I sooner might forget
If you will print "Our Mutual Regret."
First published in The Bulletin, 6 October 1927.
