Shall I Compare Thee? Poem by Barbara Clafton

Shall I compare thee to an Autumn day?
Thou art more humid and more hot.
Rough winds do blow your newspaper away
as you pour another drink out from the pot.

Sometimes, too hot, your clothes you must remove
and show your strong complexion that is tanned.
Your masculinity somehow to prove
when holding me so tightly in your hand.

But thy eternal Autumn will not fade,
nor lose possession of your lingering kisses,
nor shall I lose the gentle love we made
when for eternity I am your Misses.