And did they hear, those on-looking distant Rules, hear did they what was said to the world? That story must be told by one “me,” can’t Have a sonnet without that one letter mold— First person voice, and make it beautiful, Can’t have a sonnet that doesn’t love, That doesn’t speak from a mouth of its own That doesn’t rhyme, that does not resolve Can’t call it a sonnet if it won’t grow old, Not Shakespeare but Brooks, not Byron but Stein And here— the words that did not do what they were told And here— rules fall, away in line in line But author? Who author, who inspire? Who make? Un-sonnet, un-sung it, not claimed. Not take.