Shall I compare thee to a winter’s day?
Thou art more crusty and intemperate:
Cruel winds and sleet that spits its icy spray
I scarce can endure winter’s plodding gait:
Sometime the wind doth drop but by design
To make me feel that spring shall come ere soon,
Only to strike with wind so more malign
Impaling me upon its cruel harpoon:
Alas thy eternal winter does not fade
But comes again once I forget thy curse
I am naive and once again betrayed
Like thy foul temper – only thine’s much worse.
So prithee tell why would’st become my wife?
For warmth I seek and thou be gone my life.
by Hugh Marchand