I think I already posted this sonnet once, but it couldn't hurt to post it again, as even more imperfections have piled up in the meantime.
The Fallability Sonnet
My fallability has tripped me up
Again. I've fallen on the gravelly ground
Of imperfection. I would like to cut
This nonsense out, but no; my flaws have found
A way to find me even when I seem
To have evaded them successfully.
They just show up. They are a well trained team--
And venerable. Yes, some have been with me
So long, I look at them with a strange mix
Of loathing, dread, familiarity.
Of course I have some antidotal tricks
And textual guides. Spirituality
Assists. Self-admonition, too.
Regret. I sigh. But still: what's one to do?
Copyright Hans Ostrom 2009