It’s now, now, at is always is I suppose
The third sonnet I’ve written in this spate
Is this one as I catch up where I lost
Some ground by being lazy, forgetting those
Duties, like this daily diary, that does
Depend on my willpower and quite a dose
Of determination but sometimes booze
Takes over, and then those duties can lose
Out and not get done, that’s often their fate
But give or take a day, I rarely froze
And gave up. No, next day, after all those
Missed diaries, lost days, somehow I would wait
And complete them in one or two more days
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