Launch Party.
I go to sonnets anonymous
To cure my dirty ditty habit.
To escape I had to invent a ruse,
Sell my sonnet buddy a gambit,
So I mentioned Covent Garden, opera,
I smiled mumbled something about Mozart.
He said OK but expects a dossier
On who was there, even the D'Oly Carte.
So to feed my need for fourteen
I'm boning up on Sullivan and G
Trouble is their plans are larely Byzantine,
Not subject to a simple precis.
So, Ill concoct to hide my addiction
Now give me 14 lines of fiction.
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