Alright internet.
You present a challenging case. A sonnet you say? But I am not much for poetry! I don't like it, I don't understand it, and I certainly can't write it. LIE. I wrote my very first poem ever in the fourth grade. It was four delicate little lines of pure, unadulterated, adorable childhood thought processes. LIE. It's not that adorable.
Here we are: you know, it just occurred to me that this little gem never got a title. Sad!
Ahem.
I added in this picture because I think it is really pretty and I thought it might be a nice complement to the spirit of my little poem. I took it in Howth, Ireland, on a particularly sunny day, while we were walking along the cliffs by the Irish Sea. I am not kidding when I tell you that these flowers smelled like warm cinnamon and vanilla. I wondered where that delicious scent was coming from and sure enough, it was from the millions of flowers growing wildly and naturally along the cliffs. Amazing, right? How lucky am I?~
"Oh, the beautiful sunshine,
melts through the trees,
melts through the trees,
and pours on to flowers,
not disturbing the bees."
~
Do you enjoy the clever color coding? It also occurred to me that this might be a run-on sentence. But that shouldn't matter, because poetry shouldn't be constrained to the conventional rules of daily speaking and writing. So there. Poetry.
Now that I am older (and possibly wiser, although fourth grade me was a real trip), we shall see what sort of sonnet I can come up with. More to come soon (as in a couple of hours, depending on how brilliant I become), so stay tuned.
