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