Sonnets - Poem by Eric Bult
My first attempts to write in sonnet form
Drew kind but brutal criticism then
From one who gently told me as a norm
My own voice I should use thereafter when
This strange iambic brute with fourteen tails
Does size upon my mind; its blandishment
Disguising every pain which it entails
Until at last it lives luxiriant
Within my garden. Hid between the walls
Resides a brain long fashioned by the calls
Of gentle nature's fine reticulum.
No-one should doubt their own ability
To thus enjoy such calm tranquility.
Comments about Sonnets by Eric Bult
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.