A hundred sonnets? Jesus Jumping Christ!
Can you believe that shit? I know I can't--
You'd think that half as many had sufficed
To purge my compulsive poetic rant;
And yet I barrel on, out of control,
Pounding iambic observations home,
Torturing rhyme and stripping bare my soul,
For what? Some kind of OCD syndrome?
They can't all be gems, and alas, they're not--
Quantity over quality, I fear.
But if I reach for stars and miss--so what?
You try a sonnet a day for a year!
No, failure in a grand attempt's no sin;
Even blind hogs root acorns now and then.
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