Cinta A Sonnet

Cinta, Cinta,

Quite contrary.

Waits for something more.

But while she waits, anticipates

She found herself a bore.

And so she sought to pedigree

Become what others proffer.

But what she found was something less

Than what she had to offer.

Oh bother, my brother, my captain, no poet;

Why cater with words so of dread,

Why prescribe a sonnet without something on it

And verse so un-apropos said?

A life misread and dreams unreal, expectations unrequited.

I found instead of the husband I wed, a hero yet unknighted.

Jonathan A. Glenn