I enjoy composing awful sonnets-
it makes my heart sing magnificent songs…
the only rhyme to use now is “bonnets.”
My heart for the great gift of rhyming longs,
but alas, I don’t possess such a gift
and my word choices become very forced.
Through the rhyming dicitionary I sift;
The thought behind my rhymes becomes outsourced.
But even though it is a worthless plight
It’s as good a use of time as any,
and so I will my silly sonnets write:
The crazy, the varied, ad the many.
