Precocious Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

When, gifted mentor, I made shift
to sift your manuscript makeshift,
which swift my spirit to uplift
you sent to me in shortest shrift,
I meant to thank you for your gift.

In your thesis there is a rift
between fact, fiction, careless clift,
a most unfortunate abyss,
thus with your aptitude I'm tiffed.

Because key arguments snow drift
it seems, Sir, that the point is miffed,
it had of course to come to this,
my servitude is spent, so shift!