NaPoWriMo Day Nine: Sonnet

So to Easter, where I celebrated by trying to channel my inner Shakespeare. Yes, I’ll confess to managing yet another tongue-in-cheek piece here; it was not an easy challenge this. I wrestle with set structure and rhyme in poetry, even as I realise how it serves as a container.

To write in sonnet form is still a task
With which I struggle as I gaze upon
Acres of whitened paper; whereupon
I’m tempted now  to give up as  I ask:
“Where is my inner Shakespeare, would he pass?
Throw in his quill? No, never!” For this Swan
Of  Avon has a gift, pure love he’s won,
Whereas poetic muse, it rates me last.
Yet panic not, for I can surely see
My talents lie elsewhere, though where I’m not
So sure, yet time will tell; I’ll play my part.
Maybe I’ll write a book or plant a tree: [really scraping the bottom of the barrel here!]
A Poet (tree), with its own special plot;
A Sonnet (trie), leaves flourishing at heart.

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