A sonnet's what this is, that much is plain There really isn't any need to stare Its introduction's made in this quatrain Two more will follow, then a rhyming pair
It is iambic, so it goes “dot dash” Two syllables a foot, five feet a line The rhythm takes you onward in a flash The sense of structure's reinforced by rhyme
After the first octet, a change of mood The sonnet's true intentions are revealed Its themes are love and essence, nothing crude Hard hearts begin to melt and ******* to yield
Then closure as it slowly slips away A soft exit – a pyrrhic fall – spondee.