SUMMER’S DAY | Allen Ashley Shall I compare you to a summer’s day? Only to one with rain and wind and chill, with pesticides and fever from the hay and lawnmowers that break the morning still. Rough words do fill my darling’s voice in May and June doth find you ill-tempered and sour. July, you’re like a wasp around the cake. And August? Agent Orange to a flower. For thy eternal moaning does not fade though days are long and sometimes sun may shine. Bright cheerfulness eclipsed and out-weighed – and Silence will not greet you at his shrine. So long as I can see and breathe and hear, so must you nag all summer every year.