The first draft is always a full tin trash can
On fire. With flames so far-reaching, they
Tickle many distant stars into giggling.
At draft two, the flames shrink
Leaving you only a few
Trillion stars still snickering.
By draft one hundred, the fire dies and lays
Vanquished! All the stars fall silent and stare at your
Still very tightly tucked in tin trash can.
By draft two hundred and one you've finally done it!
Maybe. You ripped out all the trash in your garbage and underneath it all
Glittering and glowing, a shiny
Toothpick. A title!
When you run out of numbers, you'll finally have a floor
Woven together with many, many golden toothpicks that you
Gracefully Gorilla-glued together with much love and
Care. The stars now scream a stream of praises as you continue
Working on the floor's roof