An Other Poetic Form

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I read up on the sonnet yesterday,
Because, I wanted something new to write,
Because, I wanted something new to say,
Because, I didn’t want to be so trite,

I thought it was too difficult to write,
A poem shaped to make it too obscure,
And, then I got too tempted not to bite,
So, writing this began to feel unsure,

At last, the form begins to feel more pure,
The keyboard clacks with regulated feel,
I’m pounding out the stanzas quick and sure,
Impending words are ever ever real,

Oh my, I think that its conclusion’s starting,
The thing is done; my brain’s not worth a farthing.

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