I tried to write a sonnet. I was quite proud of it, but it didn't win.

Engaged since birth against one deadly foe,

A mortal combat all must surely yield,

No clemency or kindness can we know,

No soul alive will leave this battlefield.

The lines of combat proudly crease my face,

My hair turns slowly, unabashed, to gray.

I must accept with honour and good grace,

to b...

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