The sonnet's Fearful Symmetry is foundWithin both forests of the night and dayWhere similes and metaphors aboundWhere fourteen rows of iambs kneel and prayThe prayers of Fearful Symmetry composePentameter that keeps the form in checkAnd thus the prayers are forested as thoseWho twist their hempen cords around their neckAlas, a volta turns to find a LambSonnettics Tygers turn to face the starsA cry is raised: "I am, my God! Iamb!"The spears are tears that find they're yours; they're oursThen back to Fearful Symmetry we're broughtTo learn the things the trashy rhymes have taught.