Ima Ryma, all things, all time.
Ima Ryma, the good, the bad,
The ugly, the beauty in rhyme.
Sonnets - some happy and some sad,
And sonnets - some to send a scare,
And sonnets - some a mad to make,
And sonnets - some a laugh to share,
And sonnets - some a heart to ache.
So many sonnets - some fatigue,
Some say Ima Ryma - enough.
Not in the Shakespeare, Spencer league,
But some are diamonds in the rough.
For each new day and each new year,
Ima Ryma, a sonneteer.
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The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
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