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.