This is a sonnet of mine in iambic pentameter.

How far can you see across the roof tops,
Over trees and beyond distant towers,
Toward blue tinged hills of distant slopes,
Against a cold grey skys darkening hours.

Can you not feel the pains of small hopes,
Soiled, spoiled, foiled by their powers
To delude self greatness as well poor sopes,
Whos fates follows all scented flowers.

How far can you dare without pale daylight,
To hear the songs that would cry in souls void,
And echo in a gardens silent night.

Can you not taste the sap enough to write,
The storms illusions, much would it provide,
Of right or might, to know a true dawn bright.