The sonnet crown is dusted down and done
The day has sewn its secrets to the wind
And now is darkest, dark where shone the sun
And all alone the lonely world is pinned.
And each and every man in nature's flame
And each and every race that is their own
They speak for all but one, and in their name
Look back and wonder where the past has flown.
Today I left my sonnet book at work,
And post one-thirty was all but complete,
I realised, and feeling like a jerk
I had to make these instantaneous feet.
Sometimes, you know, well that's just nature's way,
Only tomorrow do we get today.
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