Fourteen lines, a form of artistry,
With syllables and rhymes in set embrace,
A structure that can hold a heart's decree.
The first eight lines, the octave, we unfold,
A problem posed, a question to explore,
Then six more lines, the sestet, take hold,
To offer resolution, and so much more.
A volta, turning point, where thoughts take flight,
A shift in tone, a change in perspective's might.
With iambs beating, a rhythm we find,
A sonnet's beauty, a gift for the mind.
The final couplet, a closing refrain,
A truth revealed, a love that remains.