Shakespeare Turning Over In His Grave

Shakespeare,Turning over in His Grave Spaghetti can, sardine can. soup can? Why, hell~~ Any man can! Do what? Think poetry is just words! Like eggs, "any style" Tossed in a frying pan. William would totally, fail today! So, brutal and painful to say. His beautiful words too long to read. We live our lives whose watchword    and god is speed. Speed of our devices, our cars. Speed of being served in bars. Time to slow down, me thinks, And write some sonnets and odes,    with glorious, gleaming ink. On parchment..written in our glorious      blessed hand. Poetry that comes ever so softly and                         sweetly, From our mind-hearts' own infinite      meadowland. Panagiota Romios 3/23/2019