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Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

He asks.

The world must seem so beautiful

Through his rose-tinted looking glass,

Blinders fashioned from




The delusions of a romantic —

Is this sincerity?

I’m not sure.

For a summer’s day is as beautiful as a dream,

A wish;

To dream of summer is to wish for



Flattery is an offense hidden

Behind soft petals of red,

A thorn —

For if this love be genuine,

Why escape

When I already await you here?

But thy eternal summer shall not fade

He says.

But even statues must die.

An eternal summer is destruction disguised,

The Earth frozen in time,

The death of reality,

The end to natural bounty —

Love destroys even at its brightest.

I am but a simple girl,

A simple woman,

Who longs for the snows of winter

The thunderstorms of spring

And the hovering death of autumn.

What do I do with this lover’s sonnet?

A lover whose eyes

Stand captured by distant horizon,

Seeing past me

Through me

Anything but me.

What to do when love

Makes blind

Its willing victim,

Its unwilling sacrifice.

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee,

He promises.

Am I now to be

Trapped ––

A bird in a gilded cage

Of unfading green?

Is this love?

I have never loved, and

My question echoes through the abyss

Of this hallowed chamber

Of the apple of his eye.

If he loves me, then why

Must I be punished to eternity?

Death is an old friend —

Does love demand abandonment?

Who is to say,

When the only one who speaks of love

Writes sonnets



Daily Arts Writer Madeleine Virginia Gannon can be reached at