Whilst scrolling through my hardly used Notes function on my phone, I came across some rough pre-Christmas poetry I seem to have written.
Shall I compare thee to a Summer’s day?
If those days were bright one moment,
Then suddenly met with darkness before the darkness was invited in.
If those days gave my skin the warmest glow,
Melting into the sunlight,
Before unexpected and unwelcome rain.
I’d be even more convinced if such showers were of complements, in that melodic voice,
Relaxing, soothing and inducing the most believable feeling of want,
And of wanting.
Before being taken away just as easily.
So no, I shall not compare you to a summers day,
Or a spring day, a brisk autumnal day
Or a short, dark, winters day.
Because days end, and it is impossible to return.