10 December 2010


Shall I compare thee?
In many ways you are the same;
she was the waif of winsome youth
and you my love a blade of new
grown grass in fragrance and allure

I dream of you and hold your scent
a handkerchief of damp enraptured
compliment while she no-longer
wears a frown; but sameness ends
wherein I drown for wont of you

I care – there is no leaving easily
for sure, but here I know of whom
I need while she will wear a smile
that I mature; rest assured in whom
I see where sameness bares
© 30 July 2010, I. D. Carswell