A Rewrite Of Sonnett 130, By William Shakespear Poem by Sarah Harris

The sun can't compare,
dull be her lips, but none will despise,
her skin be dun,
and her hair be coarse,
roses grow through the meadows,
but her cheeks bare the rarest pedals,
other scents may have more delight,
but its hers i want through a stormy night,
her voice be jeweled,
as others be fooled,
other women have come and gone,
but my mistress will always be along,
in heaven together,
her and me forever.l