Hera, Poetry

Hera

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”

Those timeless words, so simple in their sweet compliment,

That yet do not justice to one such face as yours.

More apt, perhaps, to compare to a violet sunset,

Or yet more alike, that ecstasy of a stolen kiss.

A summer’s day, in all its glory, pales before your coveted smile.

So I put to you this: Compare not to a summer’s day,

Nor a sunset, or kiss, but to the beauty of creation,

For only in the splendid design of life can be found parallel to your own sweet perfection.

Take my unworthy hand, so presumptuously reaching out,

And grace with the act my rough and callused fingers across your own soft palm,

In so doing, gentling my raw and aching heart.

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”

Nay, for not by a single article can your beauty be explained,

But by all the world and the glorious creatures upon it.

I would have to list every item of pretty nature,

And denote each moment when the grand design of the world came together,

For only in harmony can every one of these equal your own radiance.

Alas, my love, to make any earthly comparison is to do you wrong,

So I must beg that you accept my most humble words,

In apology for these unworthy descriptions, and in gesture of my unceasing love.

January 2012