And what if I were then to write a sonnet?

And put my words in such a solid form.

Embroidered phrases then to place upon it,

Alternate pairs of rhyme with it adorn.

But what if this then done I had no message – 

For these were simply words to fill a page,

The sonnet to become a mocking presage

Of forms which catch blank words to stuff a cage.

Yet it is this strict verse that gives me freedom,

For through restraint new paths are then explored.

It is in cages men then dream of Eden -

In freedom we are left confused, disturbed.

It is perhaps our blessing and our curse,

That constraint is needed to create sweet verse.