Form: Alfred Dorn Sonnet
In sonnets he played with words, a true bard
The romance of love to the passing slur
Those insults that cut deeper than a knife
Old Bill sure knew how to hit the gut hard
The wicked villain and the lowly cur
Did he thy mother or did he thy wife
And he’d doubt the fatherhood of thy son
Would thou wert clean enough to spit upon
No man can lay such a devilish card
With such fine style within poetic grace
His words leave senses yearning more, yet charred
Transferring time to a different place
Oh reader be aware, be on your guard
When playing with the words in Shakespeare’s space
©JG Farmer 2019
A Garret Poet 