Direct Parody, Pentameter, Petrarchan sonnet. On
William Wordsworth. "THIS world is too...

Yeah, Baby, I saw that move!
You walked right up on top of me...

Umbrella folds
sweet scents of damp silk wafting...

The grass grew dark beside the lake,
cooling, held in the sand, still, alive...

I always knew I heard a faint, soft voice --
I now know that it was your fair heart's song...

I've dreamed no dream of you that won't come true.
Though seeming to sleep, my joy swoons, awake...