Shall I Compare Thee to a Winter's Day?

Lucía Hernández Rodríguez

I live and rest in sin. Yours took away

my peace, my being. You dare to call it love

yet love shan’t be compared to empty days

nor days not lit by glass, sun-kissed, above.

And Shakespeare proudly melts in summer rains.

Did verse not know I lost myself? Your night

to blame. I, fool, believed him. Coldy veins

by forecast cut -by breeze, might be-. No right.

No right to be in sight of winter tears,

a kiss from autumn does as well, though sour:

its falling, tender leaves revive my fears

of seeking blooms in lifeless, naked hours.

So, am I right, my dear, to yearn for spring,

if, still, I doubt about the coat to bring?

November 2025