Whose words these are I think I know
(They're surely not this character's, though)
Apparently my time's too dear,
And composition far too slow.
There are those that may think it queer
That I would have a problem here
And ask for work that's sure to break
My comfortable routine this year.
Another painful tell to shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
Will I deny, or maybe weep,
When threatened then this rank to take?
This unclean harvest I must reap
For I have deadlines I must keep
And piles of experience before I sleep,
And piles of experience before I sleep.
(an apology for the confusion involving 'My Cupid' as not my own but
someone elses from long ago)

Penned by my hand on the 5th of Phaestian, in the year 414 AF.