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No sonnets
Shall I compare thee to a Summer's day?
No, for I am not old Will.
I cannot scribe you a bouquet
nor utter you paintings, still.
Sour Winters haunt my lines; mine
and his, seasons apart.
A pauper in song, coin and words
but for you, rich is my heart.
I LOVE it!!!! No b.s.
I LOVE it!!!! No b.s. please...just action!! HA HAAAA!!!!
....
...and he asked her, "do you write poetry? Because I feel as if I am the ink that flows from your quill."
"No", she replied, "but I have experienced it. "
I'm not quite sure what
I'm not quite sure what comment you are trying to make but thank you nevertheless!