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How sad I am whenever I find
The article that I have penned
Is not 750 words or less
But more like one thousand and ten!
Since each word holds a special part
Within this sappy writer's heart,
The thought of editing one word
Can turn my whole world inside out.
And sadder still as I begin
To read it through and through again,
And pull from it some part of me
With each and every word I skim.
Go now, my child, sweet adjective
Sweet as you are, you can't survive;
But I have saved you for that time
When your sweet life I will revive!
And when I can not cut one more,
WORD COUNT tells me I must cut four!
And though it cuts me to the core—
Two more words hit the cutting floor.
Although I loved that precious phrase,
My article it shall not grace;
I feel the pain of letting go,
As I erase it from its place.
The countdown now at seven-o-one,
This editing has not been fun,
But reading through it one last time
I now believe my work is done.
And once again within the limit,
Having had to trim and trim it,
I send it off to meet the Challenge
Wondering if this time we'll win it.
But win or lose, I realize
It's really not about the prize;
It's all about my letting go
So something new can materialize.
I've felt the pain of letting go
Now there is one more thing I know;
That had I left it as it was
Neither it or I would ever grow.
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