William Shakespeare
Warwickshire
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Sonnet Xii

Rating: 5.0
When I do count the clock that tells the time,
And see the brave day sunk in hideous night;
When I behold the violet past prime,
And sable curls all silver'd o'er with white;
When lofty trees I see barren of leaves
Which erst from heat did canopy the herd,
And summer's green all girded up in sheaves
Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard,
Then of thy beauty do I question make,
That thou among the wastes of time must go,
Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake
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COMMENTS
Prabir Gayen 06 January 2019
And die as fast as they see others grow; And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence
0 0 Reply
Brian Jani 26 April 2014
Awesome I like this poem, check mine out 
1 4 Reply

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