Revisions are what poetry is all about.
Double-digit revisions show you care.
I remember writing a poem about a man
Who lived in a weird area where
Many of the deer seemed to have a nick in their ear.
After 30 years of trying, our hunter always returned
Without his deer - except
One day he drove home through town
With his kill, a good sized buck
Strapped to the hood of his car.
A solid head shot. He explained to everyone
That now that he had got his deer
He could quit hunting; besides, he said,
My eyes is gettin' too bad to aim, anyways.
I like to write poems like that, but they do take