A plague is now controlling you and I,
And we succumb to its tremendous force.
Allowing little time for complex course,
We quiver quickly as the days fly by.
I used to play beneath your exc’lent eye,
And bliss’fly sing until our voice was hoarse.
When times were good, even when times were worse,
Some time there was for us to sit and lie.
Yet now, as ages move to numbers great,
The daily clocks expire too much too fast.
We must make time to sit and contemplate;
We must attempt to make our moments last;
We must make time to think, our life can wait,
Before we part across the plains so vast.
(About this poem: This was my first, and most serious, sonnet. I wrote it for Mrs. Cox's 12th Grade AP English class. It follows the form of a Petrarchan Sonnet and is open to many possible interpretations.)
