In this hard toil I’ve such a goiter grown, Like cats that water drink in Lombardy, (Or wheresoever else the place may be) That chin and belly meet perforce in one. My beard doth point to heaven, my scalp its place Upon my shoulder finds; my chest, you’ll say, A harpy’s is, my paintbrush all the day Doth drop a rich mosaic on my face. My loins have entered my paunch within, My nether end my balance doth supply, My feet unseen move to and fro in vain. In front to utmost length is stretched my skin And wrinkled up in folds behind, while I Am bent as bowmen bend a bow in Spain. No longer true or sane, The judgment now doth from the mind proceed, For ’tis ill shooting through a twisted reed. Then thou, my picture dead, Defend it, Giovan, and my honour—why? The place is wrong, and no painter I. –Michelangelo Buonarroti
Which of the following best describes the structure of the poem?

Answer choices for the above question

A. A modified sonnet structure in which the author begins with specific details and then expands to larger ideas.

B. A simple sonnet structure in which the author stays on the same subject throughout.

C. A limerick poem in which the author goes from specific to general.

D. A limerick poem in which the author goes from general to specific.