When fair words fail to fit in a tired line,
And dainty wit feel shy, come not as called,
Easy that came ere at first call of mine,
When diction demurs, unequal the mould;
Phrases look hammer’d in, which, deemed divine,
Look lifeless and flat failing to cast old
Charm; apt assonance looks nigh asinine,
When poesy deserts her touch of gold;
The mood remains when fickle, rather meek
In sympathy with Muse playing hide-seek,
Strange things when happen, thoughts failing the pen;
To soothe nerves for this old faithful I pine—
That sulks nor plays truants nor fails to shine:
Nature! When all else can’t she I think can.
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I believe, there is nothing in this world as handy
as Nature to cajole the shy Muse. At least it works
for me. A typical Petrarchan sonnet with the rhyme
scheme of abba/abba for the octave and ccd/aad for
the sestet. Volta is only vaguely present, and come
late towards the end
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- Sonnets | 06.11.08 |
Aniruddha Pathak
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/when-pen-can-t-nature-can/
