This one is a little less terrible because it is Shakespearean English, not Petrarchan. KilledintheFace requested a sonnet about running to avoid an underage drinking charge.
Off I go through darkened woods, too scared to look behind-
darting over roots and branches; charging through the brush-
Thoughts of future consequences racing through my mind
as I weave clumsily through shrubs like a fledgling thrush.
erinisfordorks: I loved this very much, ‘fledgling thrush’ will be in my head all day!