What causes this strange beating in my head
Which seems to break up each thought into fives?
It's like a copper's slow and stately tread
As round his beat he checks upon our lives.
Quite suddenly a thought occurs to me:
I'll write another poem since I should
Maintain this strange ability to see
A sonnet grow like flowers in a wood
On my computer screen. I know not why
These fourteen lines should suddenly appear
When all I do is look up to the sky
And out into deep space. To me it's clear:
Will Shakespeare's spirit tells me I should try
To write a decent sonnet by and by.