This is my second attempt at a Shakesperean Sonnet. I think this is one of the better poems I've written. I chose the sonnet form specifically for this. I'd also like to note that I haven't quite gotten the iambic pentameter worked out yet. We'll see how it goes.
Unjustly Stuffed
How cruelly jealous god must have hooted
when he put Eagle's heart in Stork. Its fate
to carry burdens; it, so uprooted,
forever flying with another's weight.
Eagle is not fit for bearing children
as the stork is. Eagle's heart lives bravely --
for others, but saving them, leading when
all fails; 'tis a duty taken gravely.
What use is valor and honor as gold-
feathered Eagle have in a Stork's plumage?
There is nothing but pining, growing old,
finally dying, rotting in garbage.
And all the while, prideful jehovah laughs
as Eagle wastes -- what kind of god is that?
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