A Bad Case of Sonnetosis

What can I say I was feeling unwell
With a fever of a hundred and three.
I called the doctor. He examined me,
My ups and downs, my valleys and my dales,
My hearing, my touch, my taste and my smell
And all the ins and outs of my body.
It hurts like hell, my eyes cried with a plea.
He laughed and said, “Wait till you get my bill.
I’m afraid you have something atrocious.
Those iambic pentameters, you see,
Are showing up in my diagnosis.
There’s only one thing I know it can be.
You have a bad case of sonnetosis.
There’s but one cure. A sonnetectomy.”

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16 thoughts on “A Bad Case of Sonnetosis

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