I do not like writing sonnets, they’re hard.
Fourteen lines of the same rhythm, help me.
What do you think I am, some sort of bard?
These poems are a curse; please set me free.
I try and try so hard, to no avail,
And through my efforts I fail to succeed.
Writing these poems make me want to wail.
Save me from these poems I badly plead.
Constantly I redo all my hard work.
Sonnets fill me with such dissatisfaction.
After this, writing sonnets I will shirk,
Until then together I’ll put this abstraction.
I hate to admit, writing this was fun,
But after writing this one I am done.