Will someone please write a Shakesperean sonnet with four lines?

When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,

And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,

Thy youth's proud livery so gazed on now,

Will be a totter'd weed of small worth held:

Then being asked, where all thy beauty lies,

Where all the treasure of thy lusty days;

Explanation:

Hope this helps :)

@shaniagallegos1   we want the answers not