(Poem four. Final Draft. I just finished The Youngest Doctor yesterday. I know it’s not the final. But when you finish a draft there’s elation to it. Then you reread it to find a need for another round. It’ll eventually be a final draft. I hope.)
Final Draft
I finished!
I did it!
I wrote until the end.
I made it to the conclusion.
(I even edited it.)
The total word count is impressive.
I’m feeling awfully good.
My friend said they’d read it
While I bask on cloud nine.
This one must be the last draft,
The final draft of all final drafts.
I know I made it perfect.
It has to be after these months of practice.
The final draft is finished.
Now to look at publishing.
I know it’s ready now.
My friend will agree with me.
The email I just recieved
told me to give another editing round a try
it seems I exchanged no and not
and turned a human into a dragon
with no context.
Another edit?
Again?
Can’t people read what’s in my head?
This story should be perfect already…
I guess this isn’t my final edit.
Onward to round 254.
I’ll eventually get it.
This time it should be my final draft.
I just know it.
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