Ironic Sonnet
Why not compare me to a winter's day?
I can be as temperamental and as cold.
Brisk winds do blow your words my way
And yet I let them flutter by, my bearing bold.
You say each passing day with heat or rain may be fraught
Or clouds or mist diminish that which could be viewed,
While in your sonnets, perfection in eternity is caught
And like young lovers' initials in tree bark hewed
To live beyond our time together here on earth,
Our passion would be set down for readers not yet born.
Yet why should it be you who defines my worth
In terms of outward charms of which in time I must be shorn
When it is my verse that can best express the whole
Of the beauty that exists inside my soul.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem