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Its not Shakespeare’s birthday
But the anniversary
of his death day.
What is there left to say
About a writer who made generations sweat with dismay
About their innate inability
To comprehend the way
The people parleyed
In those days?

His iambic pentameter
His turns of phrase
Were well made
Worthy of praise.
But why would those, lazy in their attention,
Who failed to be swayed
By his ornate writing display
Useful during  great state occass-ions,
Ask, does he really matter any more?

The doubters do not have much say
About his undoubted reputa-tion
That much cannot be doubted.
Was he gay? Many ask
But this is not the question to ask of Mr. Willy the Shake.
No, we should use his death day
To celebrate his poetray
And rhyming capabilities
Which put the rest of us to shame.