Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate;
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date;
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade.
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
William Shakespeare, Sonnet 18
My beautiful Poppy is nothing but the gentle breeze of a summer day, the sweet satiation of ripe fruit, contentment of sunset. Poppy is almost ready to head into the arms of her mother, who will write her stories, play with her hair and take long walks in the country by her side. But she is not quite finished yet…soon.
