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The Bard of Avon
The Bard of Avon with a quill in hand,
Did weave such magic on the London stage,
A tapestry of words at his command,
That captivated every rank and age.
From tragic kings to lovers light and free,
His characters still breathe upon the air,
Their human flaws and grandiosity,
A mirror held to all who gather there.
Though centuries have passed since his last rhyme,
His language lives, a vibrant potent art,
Exploring love, ambition, death, and time,
The very core of the enduring heart.
So salute him with awe, whose genius bright,
Still graces us with everlasting light.
©bfa040525
Copyright ©
Bernard F. Asuncion
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