I don't think I'll compare you to a cool summer breeze

Because the implication there is you're an airhead

And I don't think I'll compare you to the flowers or the trees

Because frankly my dear I don't care about them

However I love you I won't count the ways

Because that's only adding qualifiers

And I won't tell you constantly how my passion's burning

Since I've yet to set any actual fires

And if you look to me for wisdom or a sense of social grace

Then you're only bound for disappointment

But if you seek sincerity you'll find it in my face

Or at least you can get it by appointment

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