A/N: Poems into Stories Competition: Sonnet 18: Shall I compare thee to a summer's day, William Shakespeare. Ron/Hermione time. :D
A Larger Poetry Collection
172. Sunburnt
Love had that funny way of impressing: a sunburn
that leaves a burning mark but you still adore
because it was you who stood in the sun too long
basking before the late blooming rose
and its thorns
And it is you who reaches too fast, when the thorns are still
taut, still sharp and tear through fragile flesh
that is too quick to bleed
But you won't wait until that fire dims
and your heart burns less; you'll grab it when it burns the brightest
so it'll stay with you, forever light
Because safety is worth less, after all
to that pure, undiluted love.