Sonnet #60

Like as d waves make towards d pebbled shore,
So do r minutes hasten 2 thr end,
Each changing place wiv th@ which goes be4e,
In sequent toil all 4wards do contend.
Nativity once in d main of light,
Crawls 2 maturity, wrwith being crowned,
Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight,
& Time th@ gave, doth now his gift confound.
Time doth transfix d flourish set on Uth,
& delves d parallels in beautyz brow,
Feeds on d rarities of naturez truth,
& nothing st&s bt 4 his scythe 2 mow.
& yet 2 times in hope, my verse shl st&
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel h&.
See Original Sonnet

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

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