Categories
Poetry

Correcting Sonnet 18

For my warmth in the cold.

Shakespeare asked 
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? 

But,
when the winter rolls around,
the sky frigid and blue like a bruise, 
I often wonder if a summer’s day
is the correct comparison for you. 

For you are
a soft hug after a walk home in the snow;

you are
a crackling fire that warms my toes.

No,
you are not the summer sun,
beating down,
forming beads of sweat along my brow;

no,
you are the warmth of the bleak midwinter; 

you are
a dazzling string of lights
atop a frost coated roof; 

you are
Christmas morning.
You are Christmas morning.

By laurenstockam

Lauren is graduate student at Missouri State University in Springfield, MO.

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