You've spent months after months of pure counting,
And it seems that your souls live upon it
Though your numbers appear to be mounting,
I am here with another cruel sonnet.
With fourteen lines and ten syllables each,
I shall reset it again and again.
I've no regrets for this fabulous speech,
So there's no point, you should just give up then.
This thing is rushed, for I forgot to write
The third and final quatrain of the piece.
Fear not, I've made an edit, now it's right,
Your counting, then, has properly been ceased.
So come what may, I'll end this counting loop!
Your counting means to me as much as-