Sonnet by Thomas Page
Poets of the past wrote sonnets to prove
They had merit and skill and prowess too
But I ain’t one who happens to have groove
Or a semblance that I know what to do
I’m not pretending that I am Shakespeare,
Donne, Herbert, Wyatt, or Barrett-Browning,
I’m just a novice who just tries to appear
That I’m not lost in the rhyme scheme, drowning
In the strict meter that I forced myself
To follow like an offbeat metronome
Playing in my head, the sonnet itself
Is decaying to its lyrical bone
Oh no, I just forced an irregular
Rhyme for a thought that was so singular
Academy of the Heart And Mind 