It’s not hard is it?

I’ll write a sonnet it’s not hard, is it

The hardest thing is how to begin it.

Once you start, it’s hard to stop.

One sonnet might be, in fact, a crop.

I used to write five poems a day.

I seemed to know just what to say

Yet too much talking can disturb.

The gentle angels are perturbed

In Suffolk is an ancient church

Above the altar small birds perch

The angels hang down from the roof

The faces grave convey the truth.

I tried to write but did it work?

Wisdom dwells where angels lurk