(For no adequately explicable reason, I've been playing around with archaic fixed-verse forms lately. And, um, I wrote a sonnet from Joni's perspective, so here it is.)
'Twere strange enough to have become a maid,
Yet Fate's designs hold this surprise as well,
Which from my changèd body now I've laid:
The white, the yolk, the membrane, and the shell.
My bosom friend I've bosom to compare,
And of my altered history she spoke,
While maidenly she'd braid and dress my hair;
Of membrane, shell, and albumen, and yolk.
How long ago, my sister fair I hatched,
Now come of age, my family marks tonight -
She sees me as a mom, but we are matched
In rite of yolk and membrane, shell and white!
How strange to think a human might begin
From shell and membrane, yolk, and albumen!
