I'll type this poem now, mustn't forget
Like last night, til after going to bed
To do my diary, my daily sonnet
Because to this ambition I am wed
To write a sonnet every day, instead
Of a prose diary, something that had failed
Because it's so boring, uncompleted
Attempts to document life that had paled
In excitement within days. But this grail
Has been attained in fourteen-line format
The attraction? A challenge for the head
The rhyme and metre never seem to fail
To dress thoughts and observations as best
They can be, clothed like cardinals in red
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