I would compare thee to a summer day
as I did in the deep of the winter
while I counted love's ways like the heavenly host
on the tip of a pin or a splinter.
You’re like finding a ring in a crackerjack box
with a diamond the size of a gum ball,
the comical twist in a bog standard plot
or the prayer that I stubbornly mumble.
I would compare thee to a winning lottery ticket
the poorest soul finds in his pocket,
a kite in the sky or the key to one’s heart
in the lank lock of hair in a locket.
You're the goal my club scores in stoppage time,
the trill of a lark in the city,
the very first snow, the Rosetta Stone,
and so much else more were I witty —
but you're really not much like a summer day,
you're more like a twilight, or dawn.
The former, or latter? Regardless, you may
be the penny I'm wishing upon.