Thank you Thomas must illuminating but it prods my feeble idle grey matter.

The writer stood before the burning pyre

Hope-filled tears washed in lost desire

With each crisped and burning page

His loved verse flew in cindered rage

He cried for success as his pen flew ever higher

Yearning to reach but a pauper's wage.

Thus I raise my meager cup of sake and wonder how can I imbue my scratchings with Plummer's poetry?