2024-09-22
Shall I compare you to an autumn day?
You are as lousy and as temperate
As you each day grow more inveterate
And Summer's leaf soon runs to seed and grey.
If it were still the darling days of May
The winds gentle urge to sway, moderate;
The sun, together, on your love's first date
Or the field's gentle tickle from strewn hay.
Yet you have no love: yes, you are alone
With rain and storm outside. There is no girl
Nor precious work from your hands like pearl
To appease you. No one wants you to phone
And here you are. Sitting as your thoughts whirl
Accomplishing nothing. Oh, how things unfurl.