[Straight outta 9th grade, y'all better make way!]
This phrase is just seven words long;
I couldn’t think of anymore,
But who are you to say I’m wrong?
Today, my brain is strangely poor--
Poor from lack of inspiration,
Poor from no ideas for rhymes;
But maybe with some perspiration
I will come up with fourteen lines.
You know, it seems this just might work,
Writing about how I can’t think;
I know ‘tis Shakespeare whom I irk,
Since it's poetry at which I stink.
Oh, look, just one more line to fit:
This sonnet is done! I did it!
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