William’s Tongue

By Kevin du Plessis

(This is an exercise in how to write a proper Shakespearean sonnet and by no means a true reflection of my feelings towards modern language use.)

 

From every face O Time will take a thing,

Thine spark that dwells in th’eye it shalt acquire

T’is not a thing to stop from happening,

The skin will surely fade from all desire.

A golden hue may put a halo there

But when season changeth it will be grey,

Or worse, a head without a single hair,

This doom awaits the youth of those who may:

Survive the deseaséd of all their peers;

And grow another nose upon their own

To join an even greater pair of ears,

A singing voice agéd, reduced to groan.

So hath our very speech been dulled in age,

The thee’s and thou’s have been reduced to page.

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