Shall I Compare Thee to a Slice of Watermelon?

Thou art not juicy and thou art full of black seeds

Rough winds never blow off thy bugs of May

And thy temperament hath made thy sour

Sometime thee hast too much rind

And often the melon of water be befouled

And every slice from slice often declines

By chance, thee hath no yellow spot

And thy eternal taste shall ever fade,

And lose possession of the vine thou ow’st

Oh when shall rot brag thou to smithereen

Or when eternal sun forge withered presence

So long as pigs can fly, or beetles cry

So long lives this, and this gives watermelon to thee