Original if Awkward Attempts to Find Humor in Pain
A Sonnet to Pain (in the tradition of Shakespeare, more or less)
O! thou who fillst me daily overmuch
|Photo by William Marsh|
Could I with craven visage find a crutch
wouldst I not forsake thee? Thy pure disdain
notwithstanding, I'd hie away and flee
thy fullsome clutch that harks of mythic lore.
Lo! of mortals, most joyous would I be
when 'pon thy fearsome form I look no more!
Yet thou in constant presence to me are,
ne'er moment am I of thy sense bereft.
So should'st I let thee alway this day mar,
Have I not learnt I, too, in ways am deft?
Yes! Triumph shall I o'er this mortal coil
and Fie! no longer let thee my life spoil.
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