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Post by roadrunner3 on Jun 18, 2007 4:50:12 GMT -6
The Farm
My childhood days of wonder and laughter, Played out within the security fence, Plagued not, my brain, with thoughts of hereafter, Books were not needed for life to make sense. Our three bedroom box backed up to a farm With fields and barns and a pile of manure, The fence was there to protect me from harm, But could not dampen a growing allure That called from the fields to "Come and explore". So I and my friends the fence we did breach And boldly ran through the acres of corn Certain we'd barely escaped farmer's reach. Now as I sit at my desk I desire To once again hear the call of that choir.
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Post by DavidMc on Jun 18, 2007 5:52:38 GMT -6
Delighted to read your sonnet! Not the easiest form to write in A very enjoyable read. David
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Post by roadrunner3 on Jun 18, 2007 20:32:57 GMT -6
Thanks David. It is somewhat tiresome trying to rearrange things to fit the 10 syllable rule!
RR3
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Post by anirbas on Jun 19, 2007 15:14:22 GMT -6
Thanks David. It is somewhat tiresome trying to rearrange things to fit the 10 syllable rule! RR3 Yes, sonneting can be most tiresome... Irregardless, this offering is most awesome!!!!!! Might get us all to trying our hand at structuring, again!!!! Nir.
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