If it is a square, it is a sonnet.
That’s what my teacher told me yesterday,
But what if I use every ounce of wit
To show that I can write it any way?
Perhaps I’ll make my sonnet be a shape
No human eye has ever seen before,
Shakespeare himself will stare with mouth agape,
He won’t be King of Sonnets anymore.
Everyone will marvel at my genius,
At how I managed such a massive feat.
For every poem I write I’ll earn A-plus
The praise and recognition will be sweet.
But wait! This sonnet did become a square.
Oh, writing poems won’t get me anywhere!
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