Sonnet 1

For certain, know I well of my mistake,
That grievous, woeful, nameless fault of mine -
It flings me far from fruitful things which I should make;
And villain’s vict’ry lies in mood maligned.
So also know I well of my defeat,
In each and ev’ry grade, this beast I see;
‘Mid grade school, high school, patterns yet repeat,
And as the sun stands so seems my fault to me.
I lift my sword to fight the monster great,
And lately seek negation to his deeds
To make him late, but ask, am I too late?
Has time run too long for to fix misdeeds?
         Though knowing I can rightly ask no plea,
         I turn these tardy papers in to thee.