Shakespeare Sunday: Sonnet Eleven

Though you wither now, you can bloom anew
through the offspring which you do leave behind
your bold energy need not die with you
as it becomes your kin's- no longer thine!

You have the potential for family
but also alone to wither away
your thoughts might just end all humanity-
earth would not live to see another day

Some people were just not made to bear kin,
but you hold the beauty they do not have
you cannot just hoard such beauty within
--all the beauty in the world would be halved

For people you are nature's perfect mold
Don't let the mold crumble as you grow old

Original:
As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow’st
In one of thine, from that which thou departest;
And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestow’st
Thou mayst call thine when thou from youth convertest.
Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase;
Without this, folly, age, and cold decay.
If all were minded so, the times should cease,
And threescore year would make the world away.
Let those whom nature hath not made for store,
Harsh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish.
Look whom she best endowed, she gave the more,
Which bounteous gift thou shouldst in bounty cherish.
  She carved thee for her seal, and meant thereby
  Thou shouldst print more, not let that copy die.