'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?'
Were I to be more truthful, and less kind
Once fair, your hair now more consumed by gray
Your dewy luster I struggle to find
As weighted toll of years fills in your frame
And roses on your cheeks falter and fade
I can not say if it is age I blame
Or from the fall of youth, a cynic's made
Is it my eyes too blighted to recall
The fragile beauty your face once possessed
No large gash dealt, only dying in small
Moments I turned away from your caress
Unwatered, our garden lies bleak and spent
Winter coating the stems where summers went.