What is a sonnet, may I ask you this?
Caged in, hoping for a breeze of bliss
Is it not fourteen lines of misery,
Ten syllables, do you not believe me.

So how about we, dream up some flowers
Sleeping in dew of heavy May showers
Perhaps let’s do a romantic setting
There might just be one line I’m forgetting.

A sonnet, a sonnet, no more, no less
How hard is it to write, take a huge guess
“Iamb pentameter,” That’s what they say.
Let us break the rules, for one measly day.

Some flowers, some romance, all that you need?
Not if writing is what you breathe and bleed.