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.