I'm kind of fond of poetry. I wrote my first sonnet on a dare because some of my English major friends were writing them in class and didn't think I could do it. I think they were surprised by the result. The following poem is my first and only sestina to date. I wrote it just to prove to myself that I could. I tried writing it in iambic pentameter, but now that I look back on it, I failed miserably at the "iambic" part.

Unlawful

Beloved, though you are a lofty duke
And I be naught except a pauper maid,
May we sing such celestial music
As the nightingale who greets lady moon
That the coldest heart must forgive our crime
Or be condemned for lacking sympathy.

For what worth has man without sympathy?
Ill nature can bring low even a duke.
Such a man will not balk at any crime.
He'll rob the old and rape the virgin maid.
He shuns sunlight and skulks beneath the moon.
He cannot bear to hear gentle music.

Darling, we should celebrate with music
Because our love must garner sympathy.
No one denies the stirrings of the moon
And only one can challenge you, a duke.
The king is wise, not petty, as a maid.
Have faith, he shall not call our love a crime.

Naive girl, what do you know about crime?
Your days are filled with joy and music.
That life befits so beautiful a maid.
Judgement demands justice, not sympathy.
How can I forsake the oath of a duke,
Moved by passion, the deceit of the moon?

Emotions are as fickle as the moon --
Waxing and waning so -- it is a crime.
But they have touched up the heart of a duke.
I find myself burning with sweet music.
The swain I scorned now has my sympathy;
I too know what it is to love a maid.

I offer my hand to you, precious maid.
My lasting love I swear upon the moon.
Powerless, the law, absent sympathy;
Love for the innocent punishes crime;
Justice rewards the righteous with music
Sweeter than songs from the hall of a duke.

Let no one say this maid commits a crime.
The moon conducts the spheres' divine music,
Urging sympathy for a humbled duke.