Birthday Sonnet – Shakespeare, The Bard

Like as the waves make toward the pebbled shore

So do our minutes hasten to their end

Each changing place with that which goes before

In sequential toil all forwards do contend

 

Nativity, once in the main of light

Crawls to maturity wherewith, being crowned

Crooked eclipses ‘gainst his glory fight

And time, that gave the gift, doth now his gift confound

 

Time does place the flourish set on youth

And delves the parallels in beauties brow

Feeds on the rarities of natures truth

And nothing stands, but for his scythe to mow

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