NaPoWriMo Shakespearean Sonnet

When NaPoWriMo’s gone, what will be made
Of April’s work? And all our odes assessed?
We’ve dashed down rhymes and surged the lines we’ve laid.
We’ve streamed brainstorms, and through our words, we’ve pressed.
We scramble through each day to churn out verse.
Why rush your feet through iamb and dactyl?
Why blitz the flow until you’re just a curse
Away from lying down unhurried skill?
My NaPoWriMo lessons are but one:
A poem’s only done when it is done.

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