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.
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?