Delicate

A new idea is delicate.
It can be killed by a sneer or a yawn;
it can be stabbed to death by a quip
and worried to death by a frown.

Ovid

3. Abandoned

You cannot know what hardship is, you live a life of ease.
Your birth’s no effort of your own, your smile is sure to please.

My kind and I we have to fight to see the light of day,
Persuade a maker we’re just right and let them have their way.

And if we’re sketched out on a page, our struggle isn’t done.
For those who’ve made it safe thus far, the fight has just begun.

For each idea that makes it through, a thousand, maybe more
Have ended screwed up in a ball and thrown down on the floor.

Queen Petra’s challenge. Coming up: 4. Crisis.

I was writing some nonsense-verse earlier this week, and thought, why not go on?