When William wrote, he wrote of love
to “compare thee to a summer’s day”.
When I write, I write to compare thee
to a pizza on a spring noon.
Cheesy, topped with champignon,
and onion, arugula – (maybe)
garlic bread (if a) home made dough!
Every bite a bliss, despite watching
“rough winds… shake the darling buds”!
I pop open a can of Bud – while I take a bite
off my pizza, with closed eyes. The bliss.
When William wrote of “gold complexion dimm’d;
… fair from fair sometime declines”,
he didn’t know Pizza, nor did he know
how the future shall hold,
when every maiden soft or bold,
eating pizza to forget love’s sting,
the healing power of molten cheese that strings!