gistfile2.txt

If I knew how to write a sonnet
A sonnet, oh it would be wrote
I'd write you a song of your choosing
But really I can't write a note
A thousand more things to be asking
What was it, the thought that I had
A puzzle is never completed
Opinions say that's not so bad
With prose, everything is so endless
The words travel on, quite inane
But poetry's more like a river
It flows from my pen to your brain