Damn You, Shakespeare

Fair, my pen can write a sonnet, sweet

But the mere shambles of my paper

Can never desire as equal meet

Avon’s writing; make mine a mere vapour.

Oh, if I could write words beyond compare,

In a world where my work’s alone shall be

Then, my libretto should be seen as fair

And not scattered, amongst more mockery.

But if in solitude my craft finds praise,

And in such a state, a admiration,

Then my critic would solely be in a haze,

Simply offering honour as ration.

So, I persist to note in humble fear

Forever judging; damn you, Shakespeare