One Too Many

May 23 2017

I counted to a hundred, just to stop,
and then wrote one unnecessary word.
I sent a metered pun, to have it flop
upon a hundred ears that hadn’t heard,
that didn’t know the back end from the front,
who thought a sonnet had to come with rings,
and thought that Cyrano should bear the brunt
of words betrothed to forth-and-backward kings.
I’m sorry, but I’m running out of rhymes.
This never worked, and now it’s time to quit.
I gave the form my head a hundred times;
I have to either swallow, now, or spit.
You caught me on the day I dumped the sonnet.
To be or not, not one bee missed her bonnet.


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