A summer’s day? In England?
You’re prettier and softer.
Rough winds shake the hawthorn
And summer rental is all too short-term.
Hot days get on your nerves:
Look twice, your tan has disappeared.
And even Juliet has to give you a reduction
After she’s been a few rounds.
But your face has durability:
This document gives you freehold lux perpetua.
It’s no good Mr Death brandishing his umbrella,
I’ve plotted growth against time in permanent ink.
Mankind can be wiped out or blindfolded
But the blogosphere is undeletable, darling.
In response to Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18, “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”