For ten stretching hours of every long day
I take paper, print doctor's details on it.
I could be penning a Petrarchan sonnet,
finger-painting, modelling pliant clay.
I would have more creative dragons to slay
but am stung by the cash-earning hornet
that takes us to offices, labs, Comet,
have food to but, shelter to warm, bills to pay.
If I could dictate my day in the sun
if I could transcribe my wishes instead
if I could fax my fate and copy a spell,
rhyme bulldog clips and romance the hole-punch
if I could type up desires from my head
to hone lost words into a villanelle
Sarah L Dixon Day 16 - The NaPoWriMo sonnet It hadn't ended so I had to add another two words. Also I want to work on it more, but need to go bed now - another six o clock get up after ten days of leisure. Back to workm can't you tell?