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A Sonnet's Sonnet
So thy tell me write a sonnet,
In the likes of Petrarch or of Will.
And though I jumped right on it,
I must admit I felt a chill.
For I am not of a poetic bent,
And iambic pentameter makes me flee.
The gift of poetry just isn’t sent,
To a humble person such as me.
I think back to poets great,
Writing poetry that spans the ages.
Was Shakespeare in this sorry state?
His sonnets stuck in early stages?
An though it took me a great time,
I think I finally get this rhyme.