I once wrote down a poem about a cat.
Though, now I can’t recall that much of it.
Nor do I know exactly where it’s at.
T’would be nice now to remember a bit.
It was a sonnet, Shakespeare’s preferred form.
Those twelve iambic lines of pentameter.
Capped with a rhyming couplet, as the norm.
To delight and to charm the gentle reader.
When I was seventeen, I wrote it down.
A high school lass with still a lot to learn.
With little on my mind but my prom gown.
T’was then the poet’s flame began to burn.
I wish would have left myself a note.
For that was the first poem I ever wrote.