Shall I…?

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Perhaps

Uncomfortably sweaty and lethargic.

Or possibly a winter’s night

When I am shut out in the cold.

Peering in the window

At a roaring fire.

You make me feel like a leaf

Caught in an autumn gale

Thrown this way and that

And never knowing

Which way is up

But most of all you are March

Blow hot, blow cold

Promise Spring

And then bring frost

To blight the buds that formed

Flowers that should bloom

Are killed before they burst

Shall I compare thee to a season at all?

No.

The seasons are not so predictable.

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4 thoughts on “Shall I…?

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