Yes.
It's the rule for March.
Archival Remnant No 10. catalogue no MxX 748
There is an old belief that if you sat a
group of chimpanzes in a room with a set of typewriters and waited long enough,
then eventually one of them would write a Shakespearean sonnet.
Assuming of course there was enough paper
along with the time.
I’m in a room, I have my computer, no
internet access distraction and thirty minutes in which I must remain here.
I only have the right to leave the room to
go to the toilet or to go home, but I have already exhausted the interest of
the toilets and I can’t go home as I am expected to be in this room in half an
hour’s time.
Why am I here now then?
Ah!
Long story.
A long story not worth telling, so let’s
see if I can come up with a sonnet.
The morning frost
Lain outside my door…
No, hang on, let’s try again.
Frost, cold and crisp
Resistant to the tread
As i walk hand holding yours
Into the dawn of another day.
Yet you are not here.
It is just me
A fool and his memory.
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2 comments:
Sonnets on snow on the warmest day of the year so far?
This is the archives Lesley!
sometimes this blog is really literal :-)
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