Shall I compare thee to a changeable afternoon in June?
Thou art bad tempered, moody, but thou oft make me laugh:
You may have wind sommat rotten and sad elasticated pants,
And that afternoon that doth flashed by a bit quick:
Sometimes you get blinky in the eye and you miss it,
And oft' it gets tiresome and over dramatic;
And every country fair has a beer tent,
By chance a brisk breeze showing nature's bush untrimm'd:
But thy changeable afternoon in June shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that wobbly chin and come hither expression;
Nor shall Death wander off and brag about nicking your bling,
When in eternal lines deeply scratched on a tree:
So long as forests are protected, and there are opticians and designer glasses,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.