From here henceforth, I write without a rhyme.

Just meter shall foretell my poem’s design.

Ten syllables for every line of words,

Unstressed then stressed, like human heartbeats thump.

Ten and four lines shall make this little poem,

Much as the rules of any sonnet goes,

Save every line shall end without a rhyme.

All lines that do are purely accident.

No A’s or B’s shall rule this poem of mine,

Just whatso’er I feel I ought to say,

Long as it can be said in heartbeat sounds.

This is my poem, my work, my song, ’tis mine!

’Tis mine to write it as I wish to write.

And here I write my fourteenth line… it ends.