I sat upon the window sill
and thought - for thoughts are never still -
that if all the world my oyster was,
then all the world my choices stung
and if all the world a stage may be,
my part is such a site to see
a monologue, soliloquy
the question - to be, or not to be?

a poem in pentameter
but such exact parameters
find talent lacking quite a bit
to coin a phrase: "well, ******* ****"

the critics all prefer your prose,
but you can't quite see over your nose
reduced to quaint obscenities
and use them so uncertainly

but on the past, i must digress
and to my original thought regress
for window sills demand your calm
So I must cease, or I'll be gone.