a sonnet
A chapter in the book Worlds
Snail World 9
If I were to a snail a sonnet write,
which spoke, when read, the content of a soul;
how could that writing e'er be understood,
by slug with mind as empty as a hole.
Onto a second stanza I have leapt,
gathering sweet notions for dispatching;
Has it now been a day since I have slept?
It feels like a head cold I am catching.
Yet even though I'm sleep deprived and sickly,
I can compose apostrophes to snails;
they may learn, albeit, not too quickly,
that I can conjure verse for all their tales.
Now if there's some who started reading late,
here's a sonnet, suitable to orate.
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© Copyright 2024.
Bill Schott
All rights reserved.
Bill Schott
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