Cona Adams Poet Sonnet

One-Upmanship

(Shakespearean Sonnet)

The blue-grass music blares from speaker's face
as guys and gals entwine moon-round the floor,
she sits alone, ignores the dancers' pace
although her ears record the rhythm score.

He begged her love; he painted instant fame.
She nursed her song in dreams alive to wit, 
she trusted him to give the verse her name,
and reasoned out they spun a perfect fit.

With traitor's greed intense, he stepped aside,
and claimed her song as his with no remorse.
He left her raw, his chest out-puffed with pride.
Disgraced, abased, her anger reinforced,

	she writes another song, recounts the tale,
	assured his star will now commence to pale.

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Dorian Petersen Potter October 16, 2014 at 1:24 PM Sad tale told with a nice twist. Like they say what goes around comes around, Cona. Excellent sonnet! Liked it. xxxxx D. Cona Adams October 16, 2014 at 1:51 PM Thank you, Dorian. Yes, that is another way of phrasing my mother's favorite quote, "Your chickens always come home to roost."