Shakespeare Sweats a Poetry Contest
Shakespeare Sweats a Contest
Sweating Bard, thou dost pen in hot, mid-day roast!
“That new poetry contest’s golden trophy I must win.”
Old Sol, cooking Shakespeare into a warm, golden toast.
To lose, you see, for him, was a most dark, heinous sin!
Sad, sad, to observe him ignore his divine sterling wit!
Trees sftly whispering, “Stop now, be off your knees!”
“Take heed, for you need not lose and be christened a twit”
“Bard, be not just a common man, simply out to please!”
He listened to the whisperings of the wisdom of lush trees.
Thence, filled anew his goblet with freedom and fresh wine.
Broke his old quill with joy, his own dancing muse, now freed.
Trophy ideation, gone, his individualism, oh, magnificence divine!
3/1/2024
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