I've wrote a book,
Please take a look,
It will leave you feeling tense,
The critics say I'm just a crook,
As It doesn't make any sense.
They're taking fits,
The stupid gits,
How dare they slag my piece,
Saying my book is just the pits,
They really do need to cease.
I am aware,
There's not much there,
That's the beauty of my craft,
Read my novel if you dare,
You'll soon see who is daft.
Chapter one,
Is so much fun,
It's a mystery to behold,
For soon you'll be reaching for your gun,
My story will leave you cold.
Throughout my write,
The story's tight,
Be careful where it's read,
Eventually you will see the light,
It's deep inside your head.
The truth will dawn,
You'll feel put upon,
You'll claim I'm being uncouth,
How dare you say it's just a con,
You are looking at the truth.
I'm filled with elation,
What a sensation,
My book has caused such a stink,
Why? Just use your imagination,
It's written in,
‘' Invisible Ink ‘'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem