A sonnet with the following end-rhymes
No milksop this, the Tories’ favourite son Who, though his faux pas land him in the mire, He, like the Phoenix, rises from the fire And from his failures forges victories won. Like summer, after May her course has run, New hope he brings to spur and re-inspire, Re-clothe the Country’s dreary, drab attire With garments freshly fashioned, deftly spun. Acclaimed as Britain’s only Rolls-Royce choice With zip-wire zest he’ll to the challenge rise, Restore the nation’s erstwhile dithering voice And boldly sugar’s virtues dare to air. Yet, knowing that he drives his neighbours spare, To buy a house next door would seem unwise.
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