Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day;
To the lyrical words of the weathered and wise?
Is it possible to write the world in such ways,
To portray the elegance and grace set in your eyes?
Shall I compare thee to the work of the masters;
To the strokes of Monet or the nights of Van Gogh?
For the light of your being could avert such disasters,
And the affair of your beauty would make it so.
Shall I compare thee to the notes of Beethoven;
The beat of your heart to keys so pure?
For the chance of two souls to become interwoven,
And for one thing on this Earth to be so sure.
But I think you will find I cannot compare thee
To anything other than just what you are.
For every angel in heaven I’m sure would agree
That you are nothing less than the brightest star.
