You say you are appalled, by your mistakes in your novel;
Errors of composition of sentences put together as though with a shovel.
Listen to Saint Francis who whispers in your ear
‘ You are a good writer, have no fear.’
The whip of self flagellation you must drop
For fascination for the reader, is your unfurling brilliant plot.
Your mind at the time was immersed in construction;
Trivial detail of grammar you left on the back burner.
Self doubting a poison usually quaffed alone;
The creative flame, the idea turns into stone.
Have you thought, your next could be sizzling
With pages burning at every turning?
You could then buy a fine plane or yacht
Or anything with the fortune from hot films you got.
This is I hope, an uplifting verse,
If all came to pass, I feel you would not be averse.