Wouldn’t have a clue sonnet
Black & yellow cat rack (always black!)
On top/a top, erh! anyway the car
She likes cinnamon donuts
They come flying through the air
Coming off the booze today
Feeling somewhat ditzy & dizzy
Unable to ear picture iambics
I pop the can & it all fizzes
Browning pumpkin in the oven
A wheat bag at my back
I got tired of burning my hand you see
So I guess it’s not a ballad
How strict should a modern sonnet be?
Look mumma, no end rhyme!
Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2024.
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