Poem-A-Day: Day 313

Sonnet #60 (Area Codes)

Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee,
which I by lacking have supposed dead.
Die single, and thine image dies with thee
and all those friends which I thought buried.
But if thou live, remember'd not to be
as interest of the dead which now appear.
Their images I lov'd. I view in thee
how many a holy and obsequious tear
disdains the tillage of thy husbandry.
Hath dear religious love stol'n from mine eye,
And thou (all they) hast all the all of me,
that thereby beauty's rose might never die?
     To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.
     Pity the world, or else this glutton be.

Taken from Shakespeare's Sonnets I, III, and XXXI