Would that a sonnet came without trouble,
Just like the meaningless posts on some blogs.
While this is simply a pile of rubble,
Those words fit together like well-oiled cogs.

Insisting on being most difficult,
These are unwieldy; multiply like fleas,
Refuse to retain a lullaby lilt,
Proclaim wry words instead of tragic pleas.

Bothersome sonnet. Dragging on and on,
And presuming so to drag me behind.
Trailing now through mud, I admit it's won
Since weary I am of both hand and mind.

Now this rhyme has come to its sorry end,
I bid thee farewell and God gi' god-den!