Oh! Dear rectangle! Gray. Not square.
From here we might go anywhere.
A bird. A plane. A forest green.
A plan most vague, as always seems.
Your paper's curly nature vexes;
One of printmaking's most dread hexes.
The fault I fear is only mine,
For not unrolling sheets in time.
But on we go, down paths unknown.
Excitement, yes, and cheers and moans.
The secret is I've done some more
than what shows here, but what a bore
to give it all away this date.
Oh, no. I think I'll make you wait.