My sonnetiser's brock - it's talking splong.
I'm at a loss; polisticated, lent,
yet blowsy. What do do? Rehearse? Prolong
Or disperuse the mighty poliment?
My meter's constimembered. Don't you see?
Enjambment failure. Stop. Deplock. Kerblick.
"'Twas ever so, Elizabeth," quoth he
without a pause; no mortar twixt the brick
and polster board. Ah, me! I needed frim.
It won't connect without; won't stick or stay
another day or plight confusion strim,
without fast render, colfered clean away.
The answer's in the romble from the West,
until she windles. Withy -- that's the best.