Irony.
This pretty number a refreshing breather after several stanzas on dealing with miserable former lovers, effectively accomplishes its point as Peter Pan's image mocks too painfully.
After that, I relish the images tricking out this picture of what he'd establish, though squirming a tad uncomfortably at characteristic disregard for strictures as L2, for instance, forces the metre, not being at all iambic in conveying said situation, the sonneteer's method of placing words as they feel most appropriate forcing the reader to accomodate unto the last line, no less.
If it were not such a fascinating image I'd be less enthralled for all that. Otherwise, the concept deftly managed masks aught grievances in a sense.
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