With shining sword
With Hack and slash
Through adjective jungle
He cuts a path
Even the beauteous florid prose
Is cut from lines on which it grows
His vorpal blade
Snickers and snacks
Through cliché
Valued like old brass tacks
Until the moribund tale is found
Wet, scratched and blinking on the ground
The fledgling plot
Eats twisted roots
‘til he decides
Which genre suits
Each growth line is carefully tied
So the tale, it grows both deep and wide
And then the day
Comes all too soon
When full grown saga
Seeks a boon
A gift to tell him from another
And so he gets a hardback cover
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