Writer’s lament

I worked on it all day and night
Until I knew I’d got it right
Into it my heart is buried
So why the hell has it not been cherried?

Others get that round red fruit
But for me, the picker’s mute
I thought my tale profound and deep
The editors must be asleep

The days go by, still no email
My desperation’s off the scale
They just don’t like it, I admit
Wish I’d never clicked ‘submit’

After this I’ve lost all hope
Once been scorned I cannot cope
I’ve felt the sting of failure’s pain
I’m never going to write again