• Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day,
    As the poets have already done before?
    Or perhaps pledge my love from a balcony,
    Even if our families aren’t really at war?

    Are quotes and rhymes and witty lines
    The way to catch your eye?
    Or is simple conversation good enough
    To compete with Shakespeare on the sly?

    Are my dreams just imagined scenes,
    Formed from the life I live while awake?
    Or are these scenes my reality-to-be?
    Is there some truth to imaginings believed fake?

    Could it be I’m coming on too strong
    When I’m not even sure I can flirt?
    Should I revert to my sarcasm and scathing barbs
    And pray you’re amused, not hurt?

    Would hiding behind Atwood, Frost, or Keats
    Be preferable to relying on my own mind?
    Am I really as good as I’m believed to be?
    Does unique still mean one of a kind?

    Why were they all able to put down in script
    The words I so desperately need?
    Maybe I’ll just borrow a line or two…
    And pray that you don’t read.