Oh pain , and sorrow cuts me to the quick. What comes from a hateful tome written to spite my soul. How grievous are the words filled with poison that wound me and make toxic my soul. Oh fowl stench of criticism from my peers is gut wrenching, we're a knife plunged into my heart. Oh the Fowl deed is done, the poison words have cut me and curtled my blood , thus bringing me to a literary death.