They gallop gracefully over the plain.
Their yellow feathers shine under the sun.
Under their golden flanks, their muscles strain
To bear their riders proudly as they run.
These noble steeds, whose work is never done,
Unlock steep paths o’er mountains, seas and snow,
Protecting riders from foes they outrun.
Where airships dare not land, they bravely go.
What name is theirs, what title, dost thou know?
What noble word can encompass their might?
I’ll tell thee straight, that name is “chocobo,”
That princely bird, so favored in God’s sight.
O, tremble at their coming, O! and hark
To hear them sweetly sound their stately “wark!”
As I recall, I only got a C on the assignment, because, as my professor explained, “Sonnets are traditionally about love.” Well, screw that! I LOVE CHOCOBOS.
The joke was on him, though, I got the sonnet published in the Letters section of a 2008 issue of Game Informer.