A vision of beauty, coolness, and grace;

Wafting like a leaf in an autumn breeze;

With golden-wheat hair embracing her face;

A voice melodic, reciting with ease.

Standing before me, the girl of my dreams;

I expound with poetry how I feel;

In a deep sub-conscious torrential stream;

I approached her hoping her heart to steal.

I asked if this weekend, she would be free;

She swore on her credit card, all it’s worth;

A date, she would not consider with me

Be it so, I were the last man on earth.

Be it true, I were the last of my kind

I would not, dear girl, allow you in line.

RATE THIS CHAPTER!

Author guidance for This poem

In this endeavour, I would wish to see
What wonders other sonnetteers might bring.
I've loved this form as long as I've been me,
And find their writing quite a wondrous thing.

Four quatrains and one couplet must there be
In each new entry. Hold this structure fast.
Likewise the rhyming's specificity:
First line with third, the second with the last.

And when at last your rhyming couplet flees
Your fingertips and punctuates your piece,
Add one more line, in fair parentheses,
To name the topic of the next release.

The challenge is afoot! Step forth who dare.
The comments shall be nitpicky, but fair.

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Note: Please use iambic pentameter:

da-DA-da-DA-da-DA-da-DA-da-DA

e.g. "A sonnet's meter kinda goes like this."

Thanks for indulging my nitpickiness.

(Geez, that last sentence was iambic pentameter, and I didn't even try. Holy Freholy!!)

updated Jun 17 '11 by Faltarego