Sonnet to a Peanut Butter Sandwich

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

My nutted paste found ‘twixt slices of bread.

More sticky than mid-August in a way,

If with the sweetest jelly thou art spread.

 

And what are summer days without the heat,

When heaven’s orb the whole earth doth enfold?

Yet without toasting, thou art still a treat,

I shall but love thee better when you’re cold.

 

Cruel autumn comes in ninety days I fear,

When days grow dim like some forgotten ember.

Yet peanut butter shines throughout the year,

Jars bought in May are still good in December.

 

Alas, ’tis true that summer’s joys are fleeting,

But, thou, my love, shall always be good eating.