Shall I compare thee to a garden hoe
Thou art more buxom and less straight
And were I to call a spade a spade
A spade by any other name would cut as deep
As the wound your lover's blade has inflicted on mine breast
Shall I compare thee instead to a cold north wind
Which blows down my allotment rows
Freezing all my peas, tearing my cabbage leaves
But no, thine own wind is more poisonous by far
And were it not able to let sleeping dogs lie
I should compare you to a roamin' butterfly
Who wanders aimless through the summer fields
Makes acquaintance with dogrose, or dandilion
But her self has teeth enough when she's a pup
To cut as deep, into my brassica leaf or butter cup
Or as a caterpillar grub to hang high above in Beech
Or as pure as a silken glove as a Chrysilis who speaks
Of stolen love, and innocence though monsterous actions dreams
Well after all, lets call a spade a spade, you do no more harm
lest you keep your forked tongue behind your rake's teeth
For when winter's storm comes to blow dead leaves down my street
I hold you by the trunk and ask those same fastidious protuberances
Be used to clean the mould from between the toes of my frozen feet
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