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An "I" sonnet
By Robert Stone

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I could not find a recipe for joy
although both searched I high and searched I low.
How should I these ingredients deploy
so that what I came by with -- bring no woe.

I could not find a recipe for grief.
I could not bring myself to seek for it.
How should I these emotions send like thief
so that what I came down with -- off be split.

I found too many recipes for love
and sorting them found not the one I sought.
How should I these desires most gently shove
so that what I came up with -- come to naught.

I feared to find a recipe for life
so that what I came off with -- be not strife.