Saturday, April 23, 2016

Summers Sonnet 43 (Ode 3)

It is the 400th anniversary of William Shakespeare's death today. It is only appropriate that as creeps in this petty pace from day to day, to the last syllable of last call; and all our wasted yesterdays at Summers have lighted fools the way to Summers' dusty death, that we celebrate Summers as we celebrate Shakespeare, and to that end we compose this eulogy:

Summers, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the level of every day’s
Most quiet need for warm flat beer
I love thee freely, though I can't buy a thrill.
I love thee purely, though you gave me the wrong bill.
I love thee with the passion put to use ignoring my will.

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