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In Pursuit Of The Sonnet

I cannot write a sonnet; it's too hard
To put such barriers around my brain
And thus I find my efforts often marred
Although I rephrase again and again
I cannot write a sonnet though I try
Through day and night, through winter, into spring
And even though I have no reason why
A ten-syllable line my thoughts won't bring.
But now I wonder just what is so great
About this 'iambic pentameter'?
And am almost resigned that it's my fate
That from the sonnet form I should defer
Yet, having spent so long in search of one
T'would be a shame if it should not be done

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