Shakespearean Sonnet #4
It hasn’t rained for awhile up here in Portland. So, we’re still dealing with the ice and the pervasive influx of snowmen and snowwomen. Ugh, we just weren’t prepared for this.
Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest
Now is the time that face should form another;
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest,
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.
For where is she so fair whose uneared womb
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
Or who is he so fond will be the tomb
Of his self-love, to stop posterity?
Thou art thy mother’s glass and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime;
So thou through windows of thine age shale see,
Despite of wrinkles, this thy golden time.
But if thou live, remembered not to be,
Die single and thine image dies with thee.
I love writing, and I love the writers who write the words. Good day, all.