|Perhaps one day my verse will smell of rose?|
My random words just might involve much worse
This early version here my scripts expose
The pounding beat of drives did spin this verse.
When finding verse on topics rare, I’m lost
Especially for now, your topic strains
My limits find no reader, hence it’s tossed
To be a master writer tries the brains.
Yet sonnets suffer now from me, your foe
Iambic verse has rules and guides my pen
You test, you prod, and I do feel your blow
The truth be told, it’s clear my work’s not Zen.
My passion here you see is cranking glee,
Bad luck, I cannot rhyme your strange entry!