My pen is mightier than Excalibur’s sword.

My words, as beautiful as a summer’s night.

I plead you, don’t mistake me for a sonneteer,

But for my beloved, a sonnet, I will write.

Three sets of quatrans and a couplet,

I will study the great poets of the past.

Fourteen lines, each one, a product of my affection.

For my damsel, a sonnet, I will write.