Sonnet No. 2
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 bear my body’s beautiful decay.
Though some may purchase tenuous reprieve,
The final shilling given, none refuse,
No rank or wealth the enemy deceive,
Each soldier fights alone and fights to lose.
Thus ev’ry living being heeds the call,
And Time will conquer each and vanquish all.