This is one I wrote earlier, but I'm doing a rerun for Potluck. My first Petrarchan sonnet.
Set up the board and choose a side - you're white
And I am black. Let's start this game of chess.
So as your pawn moves out I must confess,
My mind grows dim, although my eyes shine bright,
And then I send my troops in to the fight.
I look and plan and move then feel the stress,
Of knowing I will soon be in a mess,
And I'm unable to avoid this plight.
You are superior to me by far,
Your nimble brain is way ahead of mine
In planning moves so far across the board.
Confused, I'm falling like a shooting star;
You calculate, and wear a hapless guise,
Then pierce my king through with your mighty sword.