Shakespeare’s Desperation

Feb. 2014

Shakespeare is still desperately fighting time,

line by line prolific in capturing one

sweet season – summer – pinning in inky rhyme

bright butterflies to study in the sun.

Like a challenger, he boasts his poems will live

to the world’s end, but libraries have burned.

So many writers’ beauties cease to give

their visions, by men’s same enemies overturned.

As he and all his lovers lie in dust,

and we suspect his words by others penned,

these plays and sonnets like undead fingers thrust

up from the grave, cry, “This is not the end!”

For few bards’ struggles have been so well rewarded –

moments of time that even time has hoarded.

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