Transmitting 50 pages through the mail,
I thought he’d send opinion back to me,
but too much time has passed — his comments pale
before they exit him. And what of she,
my oldest friend? A careful letter sent
to her, a package of surprise and wit,
is not acknowledged. Insignificant
am I, with notions inappropriate?

Or is my writing boring? Overdone?
Am I catharsis-blinded, deaf and vain?
I love the stuff myself; I have such fun
selecting words and dancing in my brain,
but tepid comments are their best replies
when I expose my work to loving eyes.