Of Shakespeare
Ò beautified verse: Thine own self must know
For that fruitful river is that which you bled
And that pureness of rhyme you see as snow
as we sing the world rhymèd in thy head.
Jealous, I sit, when I read longing lines
For knives be sharper: as must be your wit,
Grass greener which in your mind shines
Your mirror far deeper of which you writ.
Did your poems and your breath count fewer?
As mountains collapsed and rivers withered
or does river flow: I feel it endure
so strong that is burning in thy blizzard
Thus I place this mirror and mock myself.
As I, a gentle fool, do speak of thy wealth.
Copyright © Jonathan Kennedy | Year Posted 2017
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