Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 126, No. 1. Whole No. 767, July 2005

Sonnet Number 18.1 by Will Ryan

(discovered in an old vellum heap)

Shall I compare thee to a Winter’s night?

Though art more dreadful, dark and frigid too.

The golden Moon doth lend the snowscape light,

Ere soon her Brother warms the scene anew;

Sometimes the wint’ry breezes fail to blow

And often in the air’s a pleasant nip;

Some Winters leave us quite bereft of snow,

And icy paths may also give the slip.

But they unceasing Winter doth appall,

It freezeth to the marrow all you meet;

And only Death shall free us from thy thrall.

Alas, the time has come for that, my Sweet.

Some dirk or bodkin in your heart I’ll stick;

An icicle should nicely do the trick.