Shall I compare this to a Mother's Day?
I am more more grumpy and intemperate.
Rough farts do shake the aging wife today
And the car lease hath all too soon a date.
Sometimes too loud the debt collector rings
And often is the call collect from thrift
And half the time it's you, you momma's thing.
By chance, no fucking chance, again no gift!
As bitterness gives way to bizarre glee
I vow to not let Death call me collect.
Nor will I lose hold on my damn car key.
You're calling for favors! Show some respect.
So long as men can curse we're not quite dead.
So give me a hug, brother knucklehead.
- Secret Hippie
-----[ the actual Shakespeare ]-----
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st;
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.