I would love to write the perfect sonnet,
each line having exactly five stressed beats,
so when pretentious old critics read it,
they'd admire me for performing such feats.
The rhyme pattern, of course, would be perfect,
my voice and tone would be engaging, too,
and those who read it would have to admit,
it was far better than they'd ever do.
But in the end I'd rather write something
if not quite perfect, still perfectly true,
that'd cause readers to sit up and think,
and understand others a bit better too.
The truth is not at all what you'd expect,
beautiful things are always imperfect.