Shall I compare me to a wretched night?
The tinder of my mind’s bone dead and dry,
And the lightning’s wrath doth set the for’st alight.
Tis’ a wonder that one would not die!
On high the winds whisper to me like snakes,
They crowd my throat and steal the words from me.
Wind whips around my neck till near it breaks,
Then blow so madly one can scarcely see.
Now Darkness crowds around like jacket straight,
And does more harm than Fire, Wind, or Rain.
As eyes adjust yet still can see no gait
To end this suff’ring thus ending this pain.
Yet all of this side what’s knowest by me;
Without the Dark the Light we cannot see.