Sonnet XII

I'll never stand amongst the tailored crowd,
Set still to cut away the newest one
Who'll march along in time with faces proud
And hands that join before the setting sun.
I'll not be one to win with a masked face
And smiles that feign a man who is approved
By those who do conform and render grace
When honesty and truth are then removed.
I'll not be pushed to fit the mold to please,
Where wit and mind and soul do none to sail
Among the troubled tempests of these seas
Where others' dying ships and crews do fail.
Now that I've lost in this endearing quest,
I urge this better man to do his best.