Poetry

Thinking of something to say is quite hard,
Especially in strict sonnet form.
And to make it worthy of high regard,
Always takes thinking outside the norm.
For poetry is an art of emotion
And its deep lines are expressions of thought.
But contemplating upon this notion,
Is it still poetry when thought is naught?
With this a simple melodious sonnet,
Abundant with meaningless words and rhymes.
And what else rhymes with sonnet but bonnet,
So what else does this do but waste time?
Now unable to find a solution,
I shall end with a simple conclusion.

Penned by my hand on the 21st of Sarapin, in the year 603 AF.