I begun this sonnet four years ago as a high school senior on a particularly boring day in Shakespeare class. It started off as satire, as Will liked to use the term a lot in his work. I slowly edited it over the next two years and came up with this: A heavenly complexion, never dimmed, Did never take a ladyuntil thee: When mighty bosoms, that with magic trimmed, Were mounted on thy chest for men to see. They are thy gift, concealed in silken cuff. A prize I need and didst for so long seek And sight that tears mine eyes in gaze so tough With tips: Where beautys meaning meets its peak. Unhinge them hang, so I may with them play, Thy teeming mounds of wondrous shapely flair, And in my urgèd care do let them stay. Thou fairst of fair, could neer a woman fare: To me, come thee, whose bosoms none can match. Unfathomed luck to me, if I them catch.