Poor Little Poem

 
It's the latest, not the greatest;  
Just the last in a motley line.  
Nevertheless it’s left the nest  
Seeking a chance to shine.  
 
It’s not easy trying to please  
A snooty literary mob.  
Should it, by chance, educe a smile,  
Well‬—then it’s done its job.  
 
If not, then it must languish  
In the realm of the forgotten—  
To turn bitterly resentful,  
And grow up mean and rotten.  
 
And so, a little poem’s dreams  
You will have cruelly maimed.  
There, I hope you’re satisfied.  
Now—aren't you ashamed?