More Shakespeare's Sonnets
By Fox-Trot-9

Sonnet 21: The Poet
(Inspiration 10)

If love, all by itself and unadorned,
Hath strength enough to cure this vile disease
Of mind, in which my fickle muse hath scorned
The process that creates a rhyme with ease,
I'd sooner dump her for a better well
Of motivation than rely on her:
For she, contracted to her fickle spell,
Could not continue, causing me to err.
But in my thoughts, composing rhymes in vain,
When I do think upon thee, I exceed
Mine expectations, pushing me to gain
That burning will to have it all succeed.
       For loving thee requires my very best
       In love and verse, exceeding all the rest.

(To be continued...)

A/N: Here's the 3rd installment... But wait, there's more... A LOT more!