Shall I compare thee to a winter's day?

Thou warmth's taciturnity shall not fade

You stood passionate, now wontedly withdrawn

Like the sun recedes, you detached yourself

Disconnect, and instead your elegance

An abridged inversion of what was thrives

Ironic, your unwitting gaze chastens

And deaden the mind, affronts the body

As your blatant displeasures blanket thick

You've set the fall of our passion in stone

Such that life drains from autumn to winter

The dove of love just a frozen feather

Author –

This is a spinoff of Shakespeare's 'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?' and I understand that I don't have an iambic pentameter, nor produced fourteen lines as required to be a legitimate sonnet. Other than that, all critiques are welcome!