Extra

I have within a quantity of joy
That overflows the bounds that it contains;
Therefore, lest uncontrolled it spill and cloy,
I jar it up in sonnets, which explains
Why such a flux of flowing, liquid bliss
Should find itself encased in antique lines;
It would have spoiled in advance of this
Were it not laid within these harsh confines.
By placing it herein I find it grows
And takes new life from being out of me;
So with each poem more and more it flows,
Until it overwhelms the poetry
And that's left is me, joyfully light
Screaming ecstatic lines into the night.