The Poet's Poem

These many pages I have yet to fill,
And fill them all one day I surely must,
So I shall strive the power of my will
To write renown before I turn to dust.

For many golden poets labored long,
Their poems fair things to the eye and ear,
Yet ever were their efforts taken wrong
Or left untouched for no one else to hear.

Thus here I sit in sun and in the snow
And write small things the world may never see.
I think how far I wish my words would go
And dream of honor given o'er to me.

For though my life is but a grain of sand,
I hope these words outlast the poet's hand.

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A/N: Just a sonnet written in a fit of inspiration. When I wrote it, it had been a month since I'd finished Shakespeare class, and I didn't want to forget how to write a sonnet. Thank you very much for reading this. I hope you've enjoyed it. If you have any thoughts about it, please review. As always, constructive criticism is welcomed. Cheers!