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This page is as empty as my mind - 

Buzzing with words, yet not a one in a place

To help construct a thought worth passing on.

Words fit so easily, as if each space

Were pre-ordained and, long before you read

These lines, the layout on the page told you

It must make sense because it looks so right,

So neat, so tidy, rhymes so good and true;

Yet by now I expect you've realised

That just because this poem's in sonnet form

It may have nothing in its fourteen lines

More than the words themselves, and it will dawn

            On you that words are simply not enough

            For poems must be made of sterner stuff.

Brian Hick June 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 11.6.24