Shakespeare Sunday: Sonnet Twelve

I think about time which does age all things,
as the dark night does overtake the day,
hear the old songbird, too feeble to sing
a withered up fruit, all moldy and gray.

Melted ice cream on a hot afternoon
a car in a yard, all covered with rust
fallen down, shriveled up, day old balloons
a neglected shelf, enveloped with dust

What is it to your good looks time will do?
will they fade away just to be erased
for of beauty such as yours there is few
and you must ensure that yours is replaced

Nothing can stop time from taking your life
but in leaving kin, his gain is denied


Original:
When I do count the clock that tells the time,
And see the brave day sunk in hideous night;
When I behold the violet past prime,
And sable curls all silver'd o'er with white;
When lofty trees I see barren of leaves
Which erst from heat did canopy the herd,
And summer's green all girded up in sheaves
Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard,
Then of thy beauty do I question make,
That thou among the wastes of time must go,
Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake
And die as fast as they see others grow;
     And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence
     Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence.