Are you a Sophist, beset by love's tedious thrall? Do you yearn for words that flow like honey's golden fall? Then heed these sonnets, crafted with a wink and a grin, And let your heart be soothed by their saccharine spin.
Here's one for the lovelorn Sophist, a sonnet of woe:
When love doth mock my heart's most tender parts, And doth inflame my soul with bitter pangs and smart, I find myself lost in a labyrinth of art, Where every verse and every line doth play the fool's heart.
For in this woeful world, where hearts do break, I find solace in thy witty, winking sake, That doth conceal the pain with clever, clever talk, And mak'st my heart, with laughter, whole and stark.
So here's to thee, O love, thou most unkind heart, That doth afflict me still, and play'st thy cruel part, May I, in sonnets, still, with wit, make thee smart, And find, in words, a love that doth ne'er depart.
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