O’ Shakespeare and your beauty of sonnets,
Thou’s glorious works of art that **** thee.
Its strength grasp thy soul, shatter it to bits,
I just love how you try and ****** me.
Your words, they flow in such wonderful ways,
From you to the people, they ever flow.
Where doth thou run when seen the light of day?
Back to the cauldron from where thy once grew?
O’ thou’s attempts to be but such a bird
Yet stuck an ugly duck, ******* great awe.
You bring sight to the blind; to deaf, sounds are heard,
Death to the living; mutes left to gagging.
Thus I must credit your will and your time,
For like you, my life’s lost in this strict rhyme.