An Anagram of Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18

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18

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date;
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;
Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:
    So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
    So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

Brat Summer! Hamana Hamana Hamana!

Similar unto summer, thou’rt hot.
Lamentably, the damn ol’ season blows!
Before you even notice what you’ve got,
It shifts to crappy winter. So it goes!
Is summer lovin’ fun and flirty? Sure!
Healthsome, loin-ridin’ ardor doth arise!
One thing, however, I cannot endure:
So short a half-life! Soon the season dies!
Shrinkflated schedule! Shit, each day there’s less.
Gold goes goth fast—transforms and changes shade.
Creation’s doomed to nonimmortalness—
Except one hot-legged dame! She got it made!
    When you’re deceased, forever in the loam,
    They’ll still remember this, uh, lit-ass poem!