Sonnet IV

Shall I compare thee to a steamy cup of tea?

No, for thou art scarcely warm.

Thy leaves steep but never solve to be,

And neither will thou's translucent form.

The crystallization of thy sugars but fall,

For though it seems but so foolish to the kettle

It is not foolish at all.

Thou only see'st them settle,

But to the ground thou floats above.

The tiny bits of leaf,

And to thine eyes of love

Thy leaves are thou's grief.

So long as tea can settle, can thou not settle to be,

So long as thou breathes, can thine windows see.