Unto seventy years and seven, <br /> Hide your double birthright well- <br />You, that are the brat of Heaven <br /> And the pampered heir to Hell. <br /> <br />Let your rhymes be tinsel treasures, <br /> Strung and seen and thrown aside. <br />Drill your apt and docile measures <br /> Sternly as you drill your pride. <br /> <br />Show your quick, alarming skill in <br /> Tidy mockeries of art; <br />Never, never dip your quill in <br /> Ink that rushes from your heart. <br /> <br />When your pain must come to paper, <br /> See it dust, before the day; <br />Let your night-light curl and caper, <br /> Let it lick the words away. <br /> <br />Never print, poor child, a lay on <br /> Love and tears and anguishing, <br />Lest a cooled, benignant Phaon <br /> Murmur, "Silly little thing!"<br /><br />Dorothy Parker<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/for-a-lady-who-must-write-verse/
