How do I hate thee? Let me count the ways.
I hate thee to the depth and breadth and height
my red pen can reach, when reeling from the sight
of copied-and-pasted paragraphs filling paper space.
I hate thee by the leveling of this day's
silent e-mailed screed, by laptop's gentle light.
I hate thy stolen phrases others wrote so right,
I hate thy purloined thoughts, seeking unearned praise.
I hate thee for betraying trust--I'm such a goose!
And in my grief, I hate your broken faith.
I hate thee with a hate that grows anew
with each new case. I hate thee with the breath,
groans, tears, of anguished strife; and, if I choose,
I shall hate thee none the better after writing "F."
(With apologies to Elizabeth Barrett Browning.)