To Shakespeare's sonnet 73.

I do see in you now the passing years
but then, you are several hundred years old,
still, your evergreen leaves shan't fall as tears
for your scribe scribed you in real solid gold.

Fear not honoured sonnet about black nights
for searching eyes will gleam on you en mass,
your sun shan't sink for all lust for some light
to but dimly gleam in your poet's glass.

In you rhymes light full raging fire's roar,
brighter, as the sweet birds singing sound dims,
knowing I too, shake 'gainst that closing door
where, behind, your writer's reaper still grins...

This I now grasp, this, makes my flame more strong
For you Sonnet and your Sonneteer's songs.