Sonnet 18 ½

Who, me?  Compare you to a summer’s day?

Heck, no, it’s hot and sweaty here — and hey,

The days are getting shorter anyway.

Summer can’t be counted on to stay.


But you’re no winter day, I’m sure of that:

You’re not all blow and bluster, slop and splat,

You never blew off anybody’s hat.

Compared to summer, winter’s one spoiled brat.


Sometimes you’re sweet like autumn, turning gold,

With moods from kinda warm to kinda cold,

Sometimes a little shy, and sometimes bold,

But amber leaves will never make you old.


Other seasons may yet play a part,

But you are always springtime in my heart.

Freedom From Religion Foundation