Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
No, that would be stupid.
Firstly, the days of summer are often lame,
And I'm biased, thanks to Cupid.
It's not that you're lovely or temperate, though;
No, you possess something far better
Something that makes me feel like cookie dough
So what if you can't write but a letter?
It matters not, since I'm good at spelling
And I must say there is no telling
What makes you so surpass that summer's day
Though I do find out. When the sun's ray
Passes through my window in the early morn
My love for you is yet reborn.
No, that would be stupid.
Firstly, the days of summer are often lame,
And I'm biased, thanks to Cupid.
It's not that you're lovely or temperate, though;
No, you possess something far better
Something that makes me feel like cookie dough
So what if you can't write but a letter?
It matters not, since I'm good at spelling
And I must say there is no telling
What makes you so surpass that summer's day
Though I do find out. When the sun's ray
Passes through my window in the early morn
My love for you is yet reborn.
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.
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