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UnBooks:FeaturedPoetry

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Suicidal-snowman.jpg
Shall I compare thee to a Winter's day?
Thou art more unpleasant and more frigid:
Rough skin doth shape thy sagging breasts of grey,
And Winter's touch doth not leave me rigid:
Sometimes the bright glare of hot flashes shine,
And often am I burned within thy midst;
The seasons they change as thy looks decline....