th[7]A sonnet? Do I have the wit to write
A poem with its rhythm and its rhyme
So ironclad that some may think it trite,
Or think it only for another time?

Tho’ Will, the bard, was fluent in this verse,
With honeyed speech and velvet-coated words,
I fear that what I write is surely worse
And will not flow nor strike melodious chords.

The glove has slapped; the challenge has been made.
I dare not trace a coward’s path away.
I will not let my reputation fade;
Retreat is not an option for this day.

So now, with bated breath I lift my pen,
And pray, dear muse, return to me again!