'Write fourteen lines on Growing Up, a sonnet, ' <br />the teacher told us, 'Don't forget the rhymes <br />must make a pattern; I've told you several times. <br />The subject's easy; you've all got ideas on it.' <br /> <br />Who does he think I am? Some second Milton? <br />Another Shakespeare? an Eliot? a Tennyson? <br />Compared to them, my mind's as dead as venison, <br />slightly less fresh than over-ripened Stilton. <br /> <br />'A poem's the equivalent in words <br />of something I once felt, ' the poet said. <br />Clues to another's feelings, like the sherds <br /> <br />of ancient pots, like jig-saws in the head. <br />A few curt words my feelings clearly tell, <br />one simple sentence - Growing up is hell.<br /><br />Paul Hansford<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/growing-up-sonnet/
