Sonnet 18

Shall I compare thee to a bowl of Bak Kut Teh?
Thou art more fatty and more like a carrot:
Rough winds do shake the flabs of thee, May,
And summer's heat could not melt your fat away,
Because it hath all too short a date:

Sometimes too hot the bloody sun shines,
And often is your wits dimm'd;
And almost every fat from fat sometimes declines,
By chance or celebrity's fitness, but thou art always,
unslimmed:

But thy eternal waistline shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that porky leg thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thine cellulite in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thy thigh growest:

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long as men still have common sense to be,
So long as men can picture an acacia tree,
So long lives this and they will remember the ugliness of thee.