True, I am not, erudite. However, few possess a craft as this; the talent of expression. An imitation of style, no; of whom? For I am ignorant; lacking pompousness — authors recited for your phallic stroke; division of peers. Dear Sir, I am deprived, without doubt; perhaps with poetic permit, never obtaining the license, those names – that ego. Blind to the masterpieces of yesteryear, but natural skill surpasses thou feeble attempts. Make haste – those novels, indulge – those stories, breathe – those poems, in hopes of reaching this plateau of ignorance.