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Poetry: Sonnet (Fixed Form)

With a silly feeling I wrote this down,
for lost seem to be all the words of mine.
I am not expecting from this a crown,
as I may have had a few cups of wine.

It’s eight o’ clock and the deadline is soon
yet I’m only finishing my sixth line.
Why can’t it be tomorrow afternoon,
this surely is of some evil design!

But there is no one else to blame but me,
was my own fault to let the time pass by.
From old lessons learned I did not foresee,
it’s bad to put brains on to a standby.

Now the poem is coming to an end,
this last line I shall not overextend.

Published inCreative Writing

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