Shall I compare thee to a winter's day?

With apologies to Mr. William Shakespeare

Shall I compare thee to a winter's day?

Thou art more cold and maketh me desperate

Hailstorms deter not the lone wolf on its way

And winter's lease leaveth no room for hate

Sometimes too deep run the crevices of lust

And oft is its crimson complexion dimm'd

And no fair from fair will ever rust

By chance nor nature's changing course untrimm'd:

But thy eternal winter shall not fade

Nor lose possession of that poison that thou owest

Nor shall Death brag thou wanderest in his shade

For Death himself is but thyself slowest


So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,

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

In other words, I'm crazy about you when I know I shouldn't be.