November dawned, and winter loomed
A boy of eight, still in school
Not yet a somebody
As a nobody, he stood
A light, he noticed
On a clear day, that fall
Like a beacon
Amid a sea of candles
Inviting thou to look
Up above, calling all.
Supernova, a disaster
They had called
it
To all that would hear
A sign from heaven
Perhaps a warning
So to gods they had knelt
Out of fear
How scared they had felt
But the star had lingered
Mocking, for a year
Thirty years, gone by, so fast.
The star of light, died out,
Since when?
Few that even remember the past
Many stories regaled since then.
The boy, now a man
Perhaps, a king
The stories his crown
The words his power
Yet one story eludes him still.
One that would set in stone,
His name,
Shakespeare.
As the greatest of them all.
Would he write of mountains, high
Would he write of seas, of blue
A man, he wrote with quill
Of royal blood
Perhaps, a worthwhile gambit
So, was the
authors will
’To be or no to be?’,
He asked the story,
And penned it on a parchement.
It was then that he found the answer.
Hamlet,
He would
henceforth be called
His name a legend
Now, Shakespeare will never fall
Then,
He remembered the star, so bright
So fascinating had it been
He honoured it with words
And named it in his story
With confidence,
he had described
the burning star
Even it’s postition, above and far
A good luck, perhaps,
For the story, brought him glory
As a final word,
I bring to thee.
Shakespeare, a king
We can all agree
Inspired many
Even me.
Indrek Lahe
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