SONNET 110

All creatures crow in cribs and croon and croak.
Joints crackled, crotches creaked, skin crinkled, creased.
When crass hope crumpled, cranks' bones crumbled, broke.
Decreased, teeth crushed and crunched a crust at least.
Like crocks and crystals cronies crash and crack,
Like crickets, crest no crag, walk crabwise, crane.
A crabbed sick crone on crutches cricks her back
By critics crippled, cramped by chronic pain.
By cruel time creaked off crude life's crumbs she craves.
Death crops up crazed with crimes: folks cringe and crouch,
From cradles cross a crimson creek to graves,
Wear crapes, not crowns, and cry on Christ's warm couch.
Decrepit crowds' age crammed with craft just crawls
Across the craters, creeps up crannied walls.

(Author: EDEN SANTOS OLIVEIRA. Written in: 09/12/2004.)