Sonnet

Not being a poet, I was starting to fret that I might have to turn to some stimulants to get this done, but luckily I came up with something.

Why must you insist that we are to always chat?

Is not a couple of times a day sufficient?

For it surely is for me; hit me oh bat!

For if we parle too often, it shall be deficient.

No text, no talk.  Let birds, wind blow, stillness

for some brief spell to enrich the words to speak.

If only miss Athena would bark at your pettiness,

Then I could at least have a break!

But o how you are filled in this great folly

of insanity.  Now is the time for me to run,

or play a sudden illness.  Maybe one more jolly,

yet, then the circle will go round again.

 

Alas, all great flames die out sometime,

If only this fire could have ended sublime.