An Italian Sonnet full of Potholes

This is another poem I wrote for class a few years back. It is an Italian Sonnet:

Pavement crumbles and cracks

The weather could be the reason

Most likely from the winter season

Our Town works hard, too bad it lacks

Running up our tax

Complaining might as well be an act of treason

A nuisance and pain just as bad as poison,

They turn any day gray; that’s just the facts

I am the pothole

A terrible disruption on the ground

Rather not be found

My presence will take its toll

I am just another deep seeded sin

No one could possibly want to fill me in


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