Sonnet No. 2: February on the Contrary

It's February! You know what that means-- angst, forbidden love, mortifying confessions of undying devotion, more angst... Yes. There are only thirteen more days to go until Valentines Day, but I won't write a feature. That would be submissive.

Instead, I am going to usher your tired eyes into a stifled room of sonnets. (Recently, in our English class, we took up Elizabeth Barrett-Browning's How Do I Love Thee? and had a quiz. Unfortunately, I didn't fare well so I'm punishing myself by pledging to write a few correctly constructed sonnets about random everyday matters. Valentines Day is one of them.)

Ah, how do I love thee, February?

Wait, no, I don't; not in the slightest way.

I think of you as night when all is day,

I'd rather it be March, January,

Perhaps April or even September

When the ruddy wind I hold dear departs

And those which are left are taciturn hearts.  

Come, November or frosty December.

I do hope your days will rapidly end

Or the Fourteenth will be marked off the month.

I'm afraid not everyone is happy

With the bow-tied boxes people will send.

Yet somehow this occurrence will be done

So until then I will feign gaiety.

(Visit this link for a guide on how to write sonnets! I'd like to say I used the Italian form just in case you find the poem appalling. Ha.)

I don't hate February. In fact, it's one of my favorite months, but I chose to "hate" it for the purpose of experiencing the feeling...