Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
No thanks, in fact you don’t resemble
the sweating city under sun’s ray,
or swollen song of birds ensemble,
nor too the resting mist on wet cocoons,
or comfort from the silky beach sand
rolling from tightly curtained bedrooms
through my silent and awaiting hand.
I will admit I wonder whether we
pace the exhibits of a cold museum
or whether the already burning sea
must rest longer on healing alluvium –
So, I compare you to the day I remember.
In touch, inside the first rain of October.