No Means No
Shall I compare thee to a winter’s night?
Thou art less lovely and less temperate.
Harsh winds do stir thee quite a bite.
And winter’s lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of hell shines,
And often is her dark heart dimmed;
And every year from year that declines,
By luck, or fire’s blazing course untrimmed.
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