Bard of Avon, we've no war.
I've coveted your verse too long.

Now I'm beside you, fellow poet,
in no need of father figures,

but wise enough to make no foes
and mindful how a moment goes.

You set the measures yesterday,
yet metrics vary when we weigh.

Despite divergence, we'd admit
that brevity's the soul of wit.

One has but hours to convey
those untold things most strain to say.

Our common struggle duels with time:
to fit five thoughts inside one rhyme,

compressing volumes into breath
we pray may speak long after death,

and be remembered, page for page,
forevermore, not for an age.