Tonight I have no preconceived ideas
No concept how this poem is gonna go
Perhaps I’ll write of smoky pizzerias
Or paddle a canoe against the flow
A lonely cabin way up in the woods
Could be a metaphor for something grim
A hermit lurks there with his worldly goods
Just hoping that no one will notice him
But that’s too bleak, let’s have a pretty field
A mountain meadow, flowers all a-bloom
The birds above all soared and dove and wheeled
While underneath a bride danced with her groom
Hey, look! While simply spouting junk to fit
A classic English Sonnet’s what I get
No comments:
Post a Comment