Ahem. Well, here's breach of rigidity, shall we say?
(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXVI)
If I'm too busy as sheer gloaming thence
Draws lo, the curtains on these frore scapes' tale,
How darkness cozens ere that dinner hail,
This piecemeal chance for sustnance in a sense
Half lonely, til I wander off fr'intents,
To flip through People magazine t'avail
Me of a picture, and why friends ere'd scale
My sweaters and tweed skirts as what from hence?!
"You allus wear such intresting clothes." Were
My choices strange when all don black, and to
A fault wear skinny jeans and leggings through
The week, nor ever touch tall boots? Is't poor?
Am I thus slated to be odd in tour
Cuz my tastes are not like theirs? What'd I do?
We're "social creatures." I've no lover too.
16Feb19b
Of my three tutors, the elder twain (one from CA, and the other the UK) would urge me to bend or break outright the sonnet's cardinal rule of "14 lines imabic pentametre" one citing 16-line accepted pieces by I think Andrew Marvel was it?
..thanks to accidentally beginning the stanza up a line on the page, I was loth to leave the empty line below it, so....
