Sonnet from the past

>> Sunday, January 10, 2016

So this little thing is something I wrote all the way back in my freshman English class. For some reason, I feel compelled to document it electronically before I toss this paper in the shredder. I still have no idea what I was writing about, but, hey, I was a freshman!

Roses have thorns, and purple mountains mud
But praise the deep vermillion of its shade
And drops of dew, which come of like wet blood
And through the years of time the scarlet will fade
The roses will continue with their thorns
That stain their precious scarlet ornaments
Lilies, with their own hearts, are shaped like horns
And scent of gold that makes the air so dense
Nor do I wonder at the lily's white
Whose base is so green that it seems like jade
The two are brighter than a summer night
Which never seem to finish by the blade
One red of fame, another pure of joy
But neither one is anything but coy
Iambic pentameter, I don't miss it.

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