Oh sonnet, sonnet, what for art thou now?
To number love then batter my wretch’d heart?
You ask my sights to bend, my will to bow
To consider a truth adorned, in part,
By pleasing sounds and smooth, swift dancing feet.
But moments come when meaning eludes me--
I wonder, should I trust your rhythmic beat?
Your argument persists and I can’t flee!
Alas! A turn! New motives are revealed!
New hope? Old guilt? A solution perhaps?
Ah! Passion now pervades with zest and zeal
And resolution comes with gentle slap
To former words--yes, now a jewel to end
That once again, my flitting thoughts may bend.
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