It's Still Life

The Peasant’s Dance

What should I do but say
come away. Come away.
You, too dear to be absent
from spring and sun’s heat.

Love me with your eyes.
I, the lover, and you my lass.
This marriage is forty winters 
that besiege your brow.

Look into this glass, look not
into the sun, nor at marble
nor gilded monuments, nor
brass, nor stone, nor sea.

Love swears, and lips rehearse …
shall I compare you to a summer’s day.

This poem is a found remix  from the first lines of 53 Shakespeare  poems that appeared in a Google search. For Miz Quickly. Image Bruegel the Elder, Peasant Dance    © Misky 2021