Shall I compare thee to an Autumn day
Shall I compare thee to an Autumn day?
Thou art more windy in the afternoon.
Old leaves of gold October throws away
Can never match your bottom's lively tune.
The scents of fruits are sweet at harvest time,
While scent of you can make a strong man cry.
Much beer and curry serve to fuel your crime
For saving scent of harvest I must sigh.
Each year the sweetness fades to winter rain,
When mud and grit are mixed with diesel fumes,
Your pungent stench appears whene'er you strain
Eternally we know your rank perfumes.
So long as beans are served and you still live,
You'll have a complex mix of scents to give.