Ready.
Way before deadline.
Sorted.
Got down to it.
Sitting back.
Relaxed.
Considering just chillin’
Not a care.
.
The deadline fast approaches,
but I am happy in the knowledge—
.
Just check it out
before I send.
.
What?
.
Did I write this rubbish?
.
Oh, my, G!
.
There is a flurry of rewriting.
Editing, adding, subtracting,
counting syllables
‘WHO COUNTS SYLLABLES?!’
and so much more.
.
Finally, with the deadline pecking at my window,
I offer it a crumb.
.
Not my best,
but, tell me this;
who can work cleverly
under such intense pressure?
Graeme Sandford 
Nailed it again.
Thank you again. A work from experience? Perhapsmaybe! G:)
My experience tells me I probably should have listened to my mother when I was 8 years old. She tore up my writing because I would never publish my poetry. Mostly because it doesn’t make money.
Well, I did prove her wrong in one instant. I published 2 books of mine then published her works before she died.
I’m done and dusted with still no knowledge of rhythm nor rhyme.
Getting the words out is the job we do. We can’t do the readers job, but we can make their task slightly easier. Larkin thought parents were a bit naff, too! G:)