Should I compare you to a summer’s day?
You’re nicer and milder too
Strong winds shake around the little flower buds in May
And summer’s too short. (Just like this line.)
Sometimes the sun’s too hot
And it’s regularly hidden behind the clouds
And everything pretty gets uglier
Through accidents or just, like, old age.
But you’ll never stop being young and gorgeous,
And death won’t have bragging rights over you
Because this awesome poem I’ve written will make you famous
So long as people are still hanging around
They’ll read this, and you’ll be hanging around too.