A/N: This is a satirical poem meant to point out that sometimes, an author writes for the sake of writing rather than having some deep, hidden meaning behind it. In other words—don't over-analyze what you read or you will lose enjoyment in doing so!
"It is a shame," Virginia said, as she took her sip of tea, "that all art is broken sharply and dismantled piece by piece."
"Or how words," the Brothers Grimm declared, "must always be perceived as a pestilential reason to prove 'serendipity'."
"Why, indeed," Sir Shakespeare posed, as he nibbled on his cakes, "does a single simple moment typify a heart of hate?"
"Or how one can never write for sheer enjoyment as of late," add Virginia with a sigma, with her sigma of distaste.
So this quartet sits and has their bites, their petite dejeuners and they shake their head in saddened dread and lament, "what a shame…"