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The Sonneteer My tortured time I toil at keeping bright What burns intense within my poet's breast That fearsome fire, that all-consuming light That ever puts my talents to the test To seek, to search, to find the proper words To pave each line with somber intellect The gauntlet thrown, my pens I wield like swords I pray no foolish phrase will intersect Each foot I sculpt to meet demanding scheme The proven path is where I set my feet I strive, I spend all strength to reach my dream I stay the course 'til victory comes sweet And when the work is wrought to proper hew I trim my quills and start the work anew |
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