His sonnets effervesced but none immured
her heart and soul, yet he was not deterred,
and though her deepest feelings weren’t bestirred,
his museful scribblings could not be deferred.
And so, throughout her life, poor lovely bird,
pursued and cooed, each crude or saccharine word
in melodies which often seemed absurd
would prove throughout his days none had matured.
At last her end would come; she was interred—
with ceremental garments she was gird.
In peaceful silence, she would be chauffeured
beyond immortal claims which he averred.
His final sonnet grieved the loss incurred.
Her hint of smile confirmed it was not heard.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
This sonnet was inspired by Quatrain 1105 posted on Facebook on 5/24/23 by poet Marcus Bales. His post included a cartoon by Trevor Spaulding ‘A Birthday Gift from Shakespeare,’ published in The New Yorker 10/05/15. Shakespeare is sitting at a table with a birthday cake and a young lady reading a sonnet. The caption: “Oh. Wow. Another sonnet.”
Ken Gosse prefers writing short, rhymed verse with traditional meter usually filled with whimsy and humor. First published in First Literary Review–East in November 2016, since then in Pure Slush, Home Planet News Online, Spillwords, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, and others. Raised in the Chicago suburbs, now retired, he and his wife have lived in Mesa, AZ, over twenty-five years with rescue cats and dogs underfoot.