THREE hundred sonnets? Holy fucking shit!
That's quite a whopping number, you'll agree.
The end's in sight, it's far too late to quit;
I'm pressing on till anniversary.
I've filled up seven notebooks with this scratch
And emptied better than a dozen pens
Arriving at this tricentary batch,
So now I'm in it till the bitter end.
And maybe once it's done I'll rub the claw
That used to be my writing hand and sigh;
Unknit my brow, unclench my aching jaw,
Put down my quill and set my notebooks by;
Resign my meter and abjure my rhyme--
But then, what will I do with all my time?
1 comment:
W00t! Congratulations!
We should celebrate by going to watch 300, maybe?
Post a Comment