Shall I speak of thee like a day in June?
 Thou art more fine to see and more calm:
 Rough winds do shake the much loved buds of May,
 And time of warmth hath all too short a date:
 Some time too hot the eye in the sky shines,
 And oft times is his gold face up high dimmed,
 And each fair from fair some times gives less
 By chance, or by the earth's new course not trimmed
 But thy long days of late June shall not fade,
 Nor lose the tight keep of that fair thou owe
 Nor shall death brag thou walk deep in his shade,
 When in lines with no end to time thou grow,
 So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
 So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

                                -- Will the Bard
                                   (done by Ra Sha Ka)