Sonnetsaresocoollike

I had to write a sonnet for Brit Lit this week, and what would be more appropriate than an ode to my favorite Brit?

As he lightly strums his ukulele,

All eight hundred thousand subscribers swoon

He sings of Doctor Who and acne

And eats baby food on a silver spoon

Others may find his profession quite strange

As he records himself for a living

But there isn’t a thing I would exchange

Than to watch the British teenager sing

With an accent to make anyone blush

And his charm making him hard to dislike

I must admit I have a little crush

On a certain Charlieissocoollike

This may be a strange theme for a sonnet

But, indeed, we are taking british lit

I have too much time on my hands.

L.