You Are Late Mistress Beckett

A Parody

“You are late, Mistress Beckett,” the reader said,
“And your mind has gone blank overnight;
And yet you insist upon typing in bed —
Do you think, at this hour, you can write?”

“In the daytime,” Miss Beckett replied with a pun,
“I fear that my writing’s too plain;
But now my good judgement has set with the sun,
Why, I feel my pen take off again.”

“You are late,” said the reader, “I say it once more,
And were snoring away in your flat;
Yet you woke in a jiffy at quarter to four —
Pray, what is the meaning of that?”

“In the day,” said the scribe, as she cursed all the clocks,
“I take a small nap (or a couple)
With the ruckus at night — the house ticks and it tocks —
I doze off to keep the mind supple.”

“You are late,” said the reader, “your prose is too weak
I’ve no idea why you pursue it;
Yet you’ve twisted this verse, why, you Charles Dodgson freak —
Girl, how in the hell did you do it?”

“In the daytime,” said Beckett, “I used to write law,
Which afforded me no end of strife;
Tying words into knots, though it was such a bore,
Has served me quite well in this life.”

“You are late,” said the reader, “and nobody knows
If you’ll dodge all your deadlines forever;
Yet you’ll publish a piece in the end I suppose —
Oh why can’t you be on time, ever?”

“I have answered three questions, and that is enough.”
Said the reader, “oh sod off now!” [swears]
Do you think we can listen all day to such guff?
Enough now dear, nobody cares!”