I''m feeling dizzy in the rain But also much alive. The drops are drumming on my brain'' Up to the count of five. But sonnets have all fourteen lines That could be stretched upon a will To a huge park of forty pines Up on the poet''s hill. Why fourteen? it''s a kind of puzzle. Was Juliet no more than child? Should Romeo have worn a muzzle To stop him from becoming wild?
The clue is clef that is the key. What I would rather do is ski.