[Aaron Poochigian]

Shall I compare thee to a winter's day?
Thou art more frigid and less temperate.
Rough winds do shake the windows where I stay
Alone in bed with no hope of a date.
The eye of heaven blinks and seldom shines,
His golden visage is forever dimmed.
Life is unfair and swiftly it declines.
The Yuletide yew we hewed remains untrimmed --
It will be sere by April, it will fade
As though it had been drying in an oast.
Death brags that thou art fondest of his shade
As is a well-known fact from coast to coast.
So long as I may breathe or my eyes see,
I'll rue the cold day I lay next to thee.