Sweet Sonnet Bird
When on the path of poetry I tread,
I rarely know the scenery I’ll find.
I hear a bird that sings inside my head
and measures steps iambic in my mind.
At times it seems a mountain that I climb.
I work but do not sweat. . . it’s more like play!
And each five steps I take, a word must rhyme
with one that’s ten feet farther on my way.
Although I often plod, I hate to rest;
I follow where sweet bird is wont to go
and often double back while on my quest
to find each turn of phrase most apropos.
But, oh, that words to match her melody
would come as swiftly as her song to me!
for the Which is your favorite poem form? Poetry Contest
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