The Ghost of Liz Barrett Browning

Sonnet

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

Shall I sit next to you, Lizzy Barrett
Poet who penned a sonnet every day:
You wrote them, Liz, as both stick and carrot
And left one for Bob, with the breakfast tray;
At times too cold my fingers feel for rhymes
And often does this brain freeze up, my friends —
Yet you would never let The New York Times
Distract you from poetic dividends;
My free-range free verse remains one big hot mess
Not unlike my unkempt, dust-filled house —
My copy isn’t fit for brunch, much less
A morning morsel for my hungry spouse!
Girl, what muse did you possess? I want him
Cuz one-a-day poetry is daunting.