Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Sweaty, smelly, and seeped

In high expectations, while actually

Ending in an unpleasant stickiness

And the need to shower.


Would a rose by any other name be

Just as sweet?

Yes, but it would still be a prick.


What light through yonder window breaks?

It is the east, and you are the sun.

Hard to look at for an

Extended period of time,

And will eventually kill me

If I spend too much time in your presence.


So are you to my thoughts as food to life –

A distraction from the problems

I should actually be dealing with.

Or as sweet-seasoned showers are to the ground –

You ruin picnics.


O, that I were a glove upon your hand

That I might touch that cheek!

Then I could be used to slap you

As the preamble of a duel.


Let all the number of the stars give light

To thy fair way!

Because, like the stars,

You are gassy and distant.

Exeunt my life, Bethany.


By Blake

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