A Sonnet upon Sonnetry

Some have argued that no one writes a sonnet 
perfect in metrics, rhythm and in rhyme, 
but these first three lines have duely outdone it. 
Here’s thus, a fruitful quatrain in no time. 

And with ten more hard lines to go, I worry 
about the fourty-five iambs not yet slain. 
Yet I proceed to the next territory 
and I make up a second sound quatrain. 

So far so good, I scribble my ninth line. 
My worries fairly and wearily shorten, 
as I bounce on the final quatrain’s seat. 
This leaves me two more lines to quarantine. 

Now check my syllables– each line’s five feet, 
count lines how you’ll, I warrant there’s fourteen.

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