I tell you of this one episode from the life of William the Shakespeare,
Don’t blame me if it sends you into a fit of despair.
So, a fine morrow saw the popular Mr. Shakespeare
Indulged in some elicit writing affair.
Not that something new hath happened but,
The crazy poet left his house open and heedlessly slept.
It’s no big affair for “Williams” to snooze in the morrows
Their nights are often spent amongst the rambling words of sorrow
Right before the dawn, he dozed off on his little wooden chair
The doors were wide open and windows ajar, but little did he care.
The sonnet of the last twilight was blooming meanwhile,
Alas, it was sighted by the impious wind, so blatant, oh so vile!
The evil intruder loomed the poor poem with William the Shakespeare dozing in sight,
Taking her beauty and innocence as a reason of invite
The sonnet wept and whimpered as her words slowly parted
Dismantling her body stripping off her soul, the vile wind leisurely departed.
An hour later, William the Shakespeare woke up to the whimpers of a lifeless verse,
Her dried tears and sullen state made the sight even worse.
The popular poet from Venice was left bewildered,
“What must have happened?” he wondered.
Then, William, like other Williams, did what Williams did the best,
He took the easy way and judged the victim based on the scenes abreast.
The dying sonnet was accused by her creator of infidelity,
“You pity little hoe”, he cursed stripping off her last shred of dignity.
The poor little rhyme wailed by his foot but no ears were open for her whimper
Flushing “it” down the bin, William “the Great” Shakespeare had taken out a new piece of paper.
The bastard wind was not too far, blowing at a fine pace,
No air of shame around him, no infamy on his face!