Shall I
Shall I match thine beauty to summer’s breeze
Unto the winters cold that never cease
Or upon the plains of the verdant spring
That sprouts with glee after the autumns bring.
Shall I compare thine laughter’s on drops of rain
Or upon the chuckling rhythm of mane
To the innocent tempo of insane
Who’s beaming eyes aloft the skylines lane?
Shall I compare thine pulchritude on glass
Upon the goblets of the royal class
Or unto a peasants cup with its rust
Where all of those just turns to awful dust.
Thou art so rare upon thy bosoms fair
An act of correlation seems unfair.
Copyright © Ruth Wrights | Year Posted 2016
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