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Tuesday, November 4, 2014

Sonnet Will Sing For Supper

My sonnet doesn't sing to me anymore
Afflicted as it is by conditions sadly dire
The pope took off its lips
Vocal chords stolen by the choir

I offered it prosthetics
Of titanium and carbon fiber
But it declined most graciously
Though silently as it were

And there it sat for seven moons turn
Until it arose as the Phoenix
Bathed in ashes smoke and fire
At least that's what it thought as it sat up a quarter past six

Being so early
No one saw the conditions of resurrection
So we just nod and take its word for it
Annoyed and shrinking our eyes from the rising sun

Tis true that this sonnet could sing once again
But I'd put the clause 'after a fashion'
As a follow up to the broad statement of song
For it was only the miracle of auto tune that brought about such a resuscitation 

So all of us applaud politely every time Sonnet sings
Because we know darned well things could be worse

Everyone saw the melodic haiku waiting in the wings