Shall I compare thee to a Shakespeare play?
Thou art more funny, less long-winded too.
With nothing much about to do, I say,
Of all, what measure could encompass you?
For as you like of Rome and jewels to sing,
Let me, your Antony, my love detail:
For Cleopatra will I kingdoms bring
Or at your will, let Caesar be impaled.
And yet, these errors hold no comedy,
As said by kinsman, kings, merchants, and wives
From Venice, Windsor–even Tyre, to me,
“From you, this tempest has good sense deprived.”
Though well aware not all that ends ends well,
Still will I walk with wintry tales to tell.
Seeing as how we also celebrate Shakespeare’s birthday this month, I thought it only fitting to share this one. I’ll confess, I actually wrote it a year ago when I was still in college and madly in love with a Classical Studies major, who happened to be a sucker for Shakespeare and metered poetry. So I wrote this to impress her. And it did.
Of course, considering the sextet (I promise I don’t mean that in a dirty way), there’s a certain cosmic irony–that is not lost on me–in the fact that she wound up breaking my heart a couple months later. So here I am, wintry tales a-telling. But I have no regrets; I grew from the experience–as, I expect, did she. In the end, I think that’s really all you can ask for.