Still, musing, mazing in the pre-dawn dark,
I watch my wandering thoughts as on a screen;
I sit and speculate until a spark
Ignites, words flow, and so begins a scene.
The little drama of a sonnet starts
Now bound to dart along, line after line,
Aiming to tickle minds and warm cold hearts,
While freely moving in its strict design.
The turn it takes past midway in its form
Alerts the audience the end draws nigh,
And all the thoughts in my initial swarm
Now narrow down, for only few apply.
The couplet’s where at last I bid farewell—
The lights come up and break my mystic spell.