Shall I compare thee to a winter morn?
Thou art as fair as fair can snowstorms be
And thou as bright as tree trunks barren, worn.
Your soul as deep as blindest eyes can see:
Beauty excelled by nothing more than death.
Voices sung as shrieking sirens deaf'ning,
A touch that lingers like a beggar's breath,
And eyes that see not the gold of a ring.
Your bitter iciness shall never fade
Nor shall your frosty touch ever recede.
Your beauty, longing, cuts me as a blade
Yet my eyes, human only, simply bleed.
Immortal likeness, never fade away
To live tomorrow as to live today.
December 10, 2007, Writing 12
(The assignment was to style a poem in the style of another. I chose Shakepeare's Sonnet 18.)
Thursday 2 July 2009
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