Shall I compare thee to a summers day?
Or not - because you are like a thunderstorm:
Moody as bruised clouds that are swollen, grey;
Unpredictable as lightning which forks
men, and human kind, in a callous rage,
striking the innocent, war waging ‘gainst
rhyme and reason, letting emotions
be your earthly dice. For a price,
you clear, and the bruised clouds blanch white
and fly away like moon starlings to the night.
A red sun breaks, the water glimmers,
and kindles with passion in the firelight.
A storm, a Venus to all the earth (and me)
You nourish all with your immortal beauty.
-- Written for a loved one.
