Shakespearean Variations: Sonnet 3
Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest;
you always seem to change it for another;
when bored of new an older face renewest
or to newer face become a careless mother.
Your mind is like some strange dishonest womb;
you perpetuate a lying husbandry;
your soul is ever-whitened stone of tomb;
deception's line your cold posterity.
I wish I could repose my faith on thee,
but you devoured my trust, my hope, my prime,
and endless years I nevermore shall see;
your lies devoured more than Father Time.
-- But speak a pretty word, and I shall be
a fool who swiftly slides to trust in thee.
