My darling’s smell is nothing like a rose
A squirrel is far more soft than he is soft
His bedroom air is painful to my nose
I hold my breath as through the hall it wafts
I've seen some jocks inspire and reach great heights
But no such skills are in those with my genes
And in some banquets there is more delight
Than in the treats created by my teen
I love to hear him speak and pick a fight
Imagination, snark, and wit collide
I grant I never saw a manly knight
He’ll sidle in a room with awkward stride
And yet, by heaven, I think my son more fine
Than any other son that isn’t mine.
Inspired by Shakespeare's Sonnet 130
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