(A limerick, haiku, epigram, and ode wrapped in a sonnet)
There once was a young man from Sewell
Who thought being a poet would rule
A haiku I’ll write
Late thru this thunderous night
Pen and pulp shall dual.
So, he scribbled and wrote
And changed, then steted
Till his hand was numb and his fingers bented.
A poet I’ll be, he thought, evermore.
He looked at his pen
Oh, mightier than the sword
Laying waste to evil with the written word.
Then switching to love and flying like a bird.
Now, I’ll end the sonnet, the final jewel.
There once was a young man from Sewell
Who thought being a poet would rule
A haiku I’ll write
Late thru this thunderous night
Pen and pulp shall dual.
So, he scribbled and wrote
And changed, then steted
Till his hand was numb and his fingers bented.
A poet I’ll be, he thought, evermore.
He looked at his pen
Oh, mightier than the sword
Laying waste to evil with the written word.
Then switching to love and flying like a bird.
Now, I’ll end the sonnet, the final jewel.