A Spenserian Stanza

Oh, structure’s cruel hold on all my verse
To be in pentameter forever
Iambic no less, for better or worse
Should I invest to say I love her?
Or would it be best to simply goad her?
No, dear friends, of heresy don’t accuse
Alas, poetry, I shall not betray her
Form, contrivances all, I shall ever use
For writing is my love, my truth, and ‘tis my muse

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