A Sonnet in Class

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Say not that Shakespeare is timelessly high
in stature of poets I must observe
Let me feel, let me taste words in my mind’s sigh;
do not command my pen and ink to serve
Your analysis of an art not meant
to be opened by one mindset esteem’d
in power by meaningless titles sent
from high. No, sir professor, I have cleaned
such debris they’ve thrown in my once young mind—
To be or not, let me answer, as I’ve
flushed out the damned spots that have stained me blind.
Your disdain appears where intellect thrives
     So I bite my thumb at you professor,
     And let this sonnet speak my mind no more.

 

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