Thou art more sorrowful and most introverted:
The devil's winds do gracefully bluster thy ears with dismay,
And thy intemperate heart, it too is far from being converted.
Sometimes too cold the eye of the midnight sun glows,
And often on thy Morbid complexion adversity enflamed.
The bright-redheaded maiden once fouled by love now knows
That to love is to be vulnerable, best ignore and it restrained.
But thy eternal winter loneness endiademed with blinding woe
Won't lessen the marrow-deep time-hardened hate.
All sorrows have an end though awhile delayed in the soul;
Oh that Eden's foolish effects could but make her unloving fade.
So long as winters concede and sorrow recedes,
So long live this, and this gives no cruel ode to thee.
This is my parody of Shakespeare's "Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer's Day".
It's for Wintercearig, whom I admire.