Sonnet to Brenda
I won't compare you to a summer's day,
The beaches all deserted in the rain -
Some way, this, to spend a holiday
(You're sorry now you didn't book for Spain)=.
No! The weather can't be trusted in these parts -
It's fickle as a false love's said to be;
I could get sentimental about hearts
But that's not my style. Poetry,
The only thing that's constant in my life,
The only thing I know that still is true
As my love remains for you, dear wife -
This, then, is what I'll compare to you.
The iambic heart that pulses in these lines
Measures out my love. And it still rhymes.
Lovely!
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