When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste:
Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,
And weep afresh love's long since cancelled woe,
And moan the expense of many a vanished sight:
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before.
   But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
   All losses are restor'd and sorrows end.

Whilst you nurse and tend your Vain, Swollen Foot
After hours of Practice did Hone your Length
You played the Player; By Mile's Minds re-boot
Merely welted your Soles from out of Strength
Of course, lonely were Rehearsals increment,
Much did the Egyptian wrap Portions complete
But knew your Pores; Thus applied Fortiment
That Stung-Itched Balm by Glossy Herbs replete
The Mobile rings. Of Double Versions heard
One by your chest and the Other near soul
Each held Respect-of-Confections your Word
Then sample enough to make your Man whole.
What else could I say? Save my Starling Greet
Your Long-Distance Call I would haply meet.

(Happy Birthday, WILLZY!)