When fair words fail to fit in a tired line, <br />And dainty wit feel shy, come not as called, <br />Easy that came ere at first call of mine, <br />When diction demurs, unequal the mould; <br />Phrases look hammer’d in, which, deemed divine, <br />Look lifeless and flat failing to cast old <br />Charm; apt assonance looks nigh asinine, <br />When poesy deserts her touch of gold; <br />The mood remains when fickle, rather meek <br />In sympathy with Muse playing hide-seek, <br />Strange things when happen, thoughts failing the pen; <br />To soothe nerves for this old faithful I pine— <br />That sulks nor plays truants nor fails to shine: <br />Nature! When all else can’t she I think can. <br />____________________________________________________ <br />I believe, there is nothing in this world as handy <br />as Nature to cajole the shy Muse. At least it works <br />for me. A typical Petrarchan sonnet with the rhyme <br />scheme of abba/abba for the octave and ccd/aad for <br />the sestet. Volta is only vaguely present, and come <br />late towards the end <br />____________________________________________________ <br /> - Sonnets | 06.11.08 |<br /><br />Aniruddha Pathak<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/when-pen-can-t-nature-can/
