10 Sillybabbles: Form
Ten Syllababbles sitting in a row,
Ten Syllababbles, Hark to how they flow;
Ten Sillybabbles, twist them straight;
Ten Syllababbles, oops, that’s only eight!
Ten Syllababbles set within a line,
Ten Syllababbles; Please make sure they rhyme;
Ten Syllababbles; Think you you could write
Ten Sillybabbles? It could take all night.
Ten Syllababbles; It’s not hard, you see,
Ten Sillybabbles; Count them now with me:
Ten Syllababbles, fourteen lines of Prose,
Ten Syllababbles extol Beauty’s Rose;
Ten Syllababbles; Look at what we get:
Ten Syllababbles make a fine Sonnet.
* * * * *
10 Sillyabbles: Content
Ten Syllababbles; Of what should I write?
Ten Syllababbles; What a funny sight.
Ten Sillybabbles sitting in a tree,
Ten Sillybabbles thinking hard with me.
Ten Syllababbles; Talk of what you Please;
Ten Sillybabbles; Talk about a sneeze.
Ten Syllababbles; There’s no right or wrong.
Ten Syllababbles; Just don’t take too long.
Ten Sillybabbles writ about your toes,
Ten Syllababbles, or how the Wind blows.
Ten Syllababbles; Write about your Heart,
Ten Sillybabbles, or your loudest Fart.
Ten Syllababbles; What they do contain,
Ten Sillybabbles; Can’t be too Inane.
* * * * *
XVII: Shakespeare
Shakespeare wrote sonnets, each one fourteen lines,
Within which he mortared fast his clever
Wit amidst a garden of flow’ring vines,
Which yet bear fruit, framing his name ever;
O’er the years Poets stretched to touch his fame,
Tracing leaves, and lifting stems to tally,
Yet vines grow thorns to prick confuséd shame:
Thus fall our fingers short eternally.
For Human Hearts are quite a complex thing;
Shakespeare knew this, and saw with True insight;
This Sight he placed within his Tale-telling,
Teaching his pen with Tears and Joy to write;
So if you chance to read or see a show,
Think of Shakespeare, and why his Vines still grow.
