sonnet# 11

Surely thou art more fair
Than a summer's morrow,
Seeing thee vanishes my despair
And cause of my sorrow.

Sweeter than the sweetest mango
By fowls which is sought,
Thy lisp cures every woe
And every dark thought.

For the skin of thine
Is so very very pink,
Compete with thee angels decline
In shame I do think.

Fairness and in charm thou art far far ahead
So before thy godly grace angels bow their head.