I love to write in many forms of verse—
Villanelle, Haiku, Tanka, free and wild.
Each one I’ve learned with patience, not with haste,
But sonnets leave me baffled, unreconciled.
I understand how rhyming lines are made,
But da DUM five times still slips away from me.
They say it’s like a heartbeat, smooth and sure,
Yet I must climb this mountain endlessly.
I read as many sonnets as I can,
To learn the rhythm poets hold so dear.
Though progress comes in inches, not in leaps,
Ten lines may scan, but only one is clear.
I do not know how mastery will start—
But if I fail, it won’t be for lack of heart.
