Monday, 30 April 2018

Sauna sonnet

If I should compare thee to a summer's day
It meaneth this: thou dost me irritate.
Hot winds do irk the prickly heat of May,
It seems summer's lease wast under old rent rates.
Always too hot the eye of heaven blazeth,
These Elizabethans who liked this were dim.
Every hair by persp'ration and heat is braiseth,
The body droops, there is no remn'nt of vim.
Will this eternal summer ever fade?
We do not even get an effing spring.
Not a leaf stirreth, 'tis 40 in the shade!
Merciful death, where TF is thy sting?
There is no relief, e'en from cold libation;
Methinks I must perforce try aestivation.

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