Sonnet #4
How often will a sonneteer ignore
How few the couples truly are who bask
In fragrant paradise! How many more
Resorted to their serenades to mask
Screams of the neighbours’ child indoors, and out,
Kiss’d midst the midges, spent their afternoon
In humid traffic jams, or yawn’d throughout
Untimely trysts beneath a gibbous moon.
How seldom will a sonneteer admit
The humble, unpoetic benefit
Of muddling through together in the face
Of tiresome toil. Sing therefore, Muse, the place
In actual seduction and romance
Of serendipity and happenstance.

Perhaps this overstates the popularity of poetic idealism, but sometimes imaginary lovers need taking down a peg.