A Sonnet That Shouldn't be Written

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I write down slowly with my ink,
Not very often I try this deed,
To, in writing, trace what I think;
Not very often do I feel the need.
“To write,” I say, “what point has that?”
Our tongue works faster than fingers!
To write,” I say, “and make words fat?
To make words, unseemly, stick, and linger?”
But some would say this brings offense,
Unduly said, lacking proof of base;
Some say such arguments should not commence,
They should not start, never mind show face
My reply to them, however, is this:
“So you think to ALL, I’m hit and miss?”





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