And now, the fourth sonnet. It is called…
Each of us is supposed to get a turn:
One after another as we arrived.
Please do not take my comments as a spurn,
But I’m not really sure how you’ve survived.
The system that’s in place is quite complex;
There’s lots of moving pieces on the board.
It is no wonder that you are perplexed:
Only the sharpest minds can count to four.
Alas, I fear it is a product of our world,
This constant spinning globe we call our home.
Stop for a moment and it comes unfurled
Tossing waves of ocean and mounds of loam.
Therein lies the lesson for you to learn:
Even the earth itself awaits its turn.