[Chris O'Carroll]

A bard more great that I gave me a hand. He wrote his last two lines with ten words each:

Shall I say thou art like a warm, bright day?
Thou art more fair than that, more praise dost rate.
Rough winds do shake sweet buds that bloom in May,
And warm months’ lease hath all too short a date.
The sun, the sky’s hot eye, too harsh can glow,
While clouds his face of gold at times can veil,
And all that’s fair must be in time less so.
In this world, change must come; what thrives must fail.
But thou shalt long and long stay fair, not fade,
Nor lose that glow of youth and love thou ow’st.
Nor shall death brag he cloaks thee in his shade,
When all the world thy fame in these lines know’st.
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.