Posted in love, original

To Thee

Edgar wrote of Annabel Lee

Who lived in the kingdom by the sea.

I’d also like to write poetry

About my love to thee.

But feelings are hard to put into words.

How can I make it sweet like the chirping of the birds?

What sort of rhyme must I write

To let your emotions ignite?

Still, ideas escape me

Unlike Edgar who wrote about Annabel Lee.

My paper is still empty

And I still contemplate of that poetry

One that I’ll dedicate to thee.

©Maria Michaela

Posted in love, original

How Do I Unlove Thee?

How do I unlove thee?

Let me count the ways


I can bury myself deep

Under the ground I’ll be

‘Til my dying day

But I know that can never be


I can run all the way to the moon

He’d ask me why I haven’t been there soon

But being there would only make me long for you


Maybe I can live

At the bottom of the ocean

That would drown my longing

Or make it worse


I can try and think of more ways

But I know what is certain

I can never unlove thee

Posted in favorites

Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer’s Day

Shall I compare thee to a
summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do
shake the darling buds of
And summer’s lease
hath all too short a
Sometime too hot the
eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime
By chance, or nature’s changing course untrimmed.
But thy
eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;
Nor shall death brag thou wand’rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time
thou grow’st,
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives
this, and this gives life to thee.

– William Shakespeare

Posted in favorites

How Do I Love Thee?

How do I love thee?

Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.

I love thee to the level of everyday’s

Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.

I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;

I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.

I love thee with a passion put to use In my old griefs,

and with my childhood’s faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints, —

I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life! —

and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning