This poem isn't worth a dime. It's not!--
No one will pay me--magazines will send
Their thanks--and when I see my poem hot
Off of the presses, that's where it will end.
But do not worry, some will say--the day
A person pays for poetry with cash
Your poems will lose all their value. Stay
Impoverished or all your work is ash.
Oh, what an odd trick of bookkeeping! Add,
And there's subtraction--trade to value less--
And profit bears no profit--just the sad
Are happy and the nude are all who dress.
Perhaps, instead, with value value trade
And only then your verses will not fade.