I tried to write a sonnet once But only wrote twelve lines. With number I am ever the dunce, Make errors of all kinds. Ten syllables is whatβs required Repeated fourteen times. It makes me oh so very tired, Before I find those rhymes. And now I need a turning point, A solution to the problem. Itβs time for me to rock this joint From Cleethorpes up to Rotherham. It looks contrived does each old poem, So back to the drawing board I am going.