I sat down at my writing desk and planned to pen a sonnet
I took some paper from a drawer and placed my pen upon it
What shall I write this merry day? My brain it humbly sought
For merry days yield merry poems, I surely would have thought
But in a normal mood was I, indifferent and content
Therefore, I wrote a normal poem, and little time I spent
The poem spoke not of death, nor life, nor anything as such
The poem, it spoke of normal things, it rambled very much
The poem spoke not of lovers twain, will not touch any hearts
And if you really want to know, I'll tell you how it starts
I sat down at my writing desk and planned to pen a sonnet
I took some paper from a drawer and placed my pen upon it