A sonnet is as camp as you can get,
When writing any form of poetry.
Bill Shakespeare wrote a lot, lest we forget,
When camp became to be or not to be.
The drama, darling! Gowns and powdered wigs,
A tragic monologue with flair divine!
Soliloquies are served with dainty jigs,
And metaphors more extra than good wine!
Oh, couplets strut like queens upon the stage,
Iambs in heels, pentameter in lace!
Each stanza vogues, dramatic, bold, and sage,
With wit as sharp as blush upon the face.
So snap your fan—let folly take the stage,
For camp and sonnets live beyond their age!
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