Suffragette Writer: 1 Poem by Janet Ramsden

'I wandered lonely as a cloud, '
tryin' to fit in with a shapeless crowd.
The hens and the chickens, the
paper and pens.
Does it matter which one came first?

Rappers and ranters,
prose writers and rhymers.
To a publisher, they're all
chicken feed.
Make 'em laugh.
Make 'em cry.
Tell them how you want to die,
linin' their silk purse pockets,
made from the ear of a sow.
But for goodness sakes, don't
tell 'em why!

Grab their attention, they'll
give you a mention at their
next convention. Then ditch
you in a blink of an eye.
They'll go and play poker,
when they've given you their
joker, while smoking their
big fat cigars. Hopin' you'll
go back and write about
how you wonder if you'd
be better off, lonely as a cloud.
Away from the crowd, and out
of their hair.

Stay there. If you dare!
Where?
Right there!
On your very own cloud.
Be proud!