I'm in a sonnet writing mood.
Canst thou, O cruel, say I hate thee not,
When upon my self thy burdens partake?
Do I not dwell on thee when I wish not
Being of myself, a slave for thy sake?
Who loveth thee that I do call classmate?
O whom harm'st thou that I do favour?
Nay, if thou despisest me, may my hate
With vengeance exact a toll on this hour?
What baccalaureate am I for you
Wanting of skill and knowledge in complete,
Being of so little and much to do
Afore that graduation be my feat?
But, hate, love on, for now I know thy game;
Those that may play in willing are to blame.
I revisited Shakepeare's Sonnet 149 to fit my hatred of IB. Now, it is time for French homework.
posted by ElizabethMajor @ 22:26
0 Comments
