More of Shakespeare's Sonnets
By Fox-Trot-9

Prologue: To Timid Poets 2

The sonnet's but a small yet daunting thing,
Because the pains to shape its form are such,
That thou should'st focus on the words that bring
It rhyme and meter, taking time too much.
The sonnet's form begins its hardships born,
A form that hath subdued too many bards,
A form that hazes all with every thorn
Of tight constructions—ah! and those regards! *
But mind! A sonnet's not a sonnet true
Without that brooding struggle from word-one,
Much like a poet's not a poet, too, 
Without a fixéd will to have it done:
      For sonnets are such ardent tasks of love
      That all ye bards unto yourselves must prove.

(To be continued...)

A/N: It will get better, trust me. So please comment, or at least tell me why it sucks. Any criticism is better than none at all.

* Regards = (n.) thoughts/observations.