So is your agent really spending his/her time trying to pitch your book? Or are they jotting down poems like this one, lovingly sent to me this week by my favourite agent in vancouver.
The metre was stolen from Milton's 'Lycidas' & the rhyme scheme is abababcca. So at least I have an intelligent agent.
Thus sang the uncouth publicist as she chewed her way through another press release,
While another Edmonton winter chilled her aged bones;
She finished off her 'lunch,' swaddled in grease;
And hoped that those ^%$^$^ at Telus hadn't cut off her phones,
While she searched for mots justes. Perchance she could cease?
No, Rochelle has work to do. One, tell all those old *****
At the *****society' where they can go; and two,
Try to convert all those young men out there who
Think she might be some ancien tease.