Purpose in my work is put to rout
And cast aside before I scarce begin.
I wonder now what was my grievous sin
That caused this torture here to come about.
Incessant dripping leaves my heart in doubt
As waterfalls of noise come thundering in
That I am sane as once I was. This din
Of constant dripping, falling, splashing--out!
It comes as beating tell-tale hearts to me
Or rapping on Amontillado's walls.
Thou harbinger of wrath hath ruined my day
And filled the air with smells of mildew. See:
The ceiling drip becomes a rushing falls
And I am forced to listen in dismay.
postscript
I am doing the May Sonnet Challenge a month late. Last month was just waaaaay too busy for me. Here is the first one: Petrarchan sonnet.