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On hearing your sonnets at Stratford, 7 January
It really isn't fair that after years
Of writing sonnets - some of them not bad -
I feel as though I might as well give up.
Faced with what you wrote, I must be mad
To hope that anything I might put down
Could hold a candle to your lightest line
And what I think profound will simply be
Iambic doggerel, nowhere near sublime.
And yet, and yet my heart is made like yours
As liable to vagaries of mood
Or temper, while my mind is as aware
Of failure and stupidity as of good.
So when I read your sonnets, why am I
Struck dumb, feeling I dare not even try?
Brian Hick January 2011
©copyright Sally Hick 4.1.23
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