Famous Poem Starters

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day; to when the trees bloom with green vibrant colors and the sky is unclouded and life synthesizes with the lines of pollen hung low in the summer air. I hate summer. There is only contempt for the ants and the flies and the bugs that come out and become infatuated by the idea of creating infestations of themselves inside my house when the circumstances for life and liveliness rears its head. It's ridiculous. Then there come the storms. Rain, which brings lightning, and lightning which brings hail to ruin all of the few pros that come with the liveliness of summer, such as flowers and swimming and being outside. Yet in light of all of the storms, the one thing to come out ahead is not flowers or the possibility of being outside, but bugs. Bugs escape with their lives so that they may meddle another day. And pollen and allergies, that's a story that won't even fit in this story. Summer is terrible. When you are cold, you can put on as many blankets as you want. When you are hot, you can only take off so much until you start considering whether shedding skin and bones and vital organs is worth it. And the days always deceive. It stays light well into the night to fool students into thinking that they still have time to procrastinate, when in fact they are already doomed. Winter sucks too. We would be lucky that all four seasons can't happen at once, but unfortunately they can, and it's called spring, and we're not even out of the woods with that season yet. So that's a year. Every year. Mars doesn't have this problem, I'm sure.