A Gift of poetry in Manner of Shakespeare “Poem”

‘Tis day was promised to thee

A gift of poetry if thou hadst, ‘‘tis would be

On her birthday Ay, while she grows sublime and beautiful

shall I write not as usual

But in thy manner of Shakespeare from streets of old England

What Thou desires shall be thine if thou wilts oh, ‘tis day of happy hours

I love thee hairs as God loveth Mary’s womb

Magic is thy existence that young leaves dances with winds on a rivers shores

‘Tis and where thou art? Why she runn’st like a butterfly?

Her wings shine as wondrous as daffodils climbs the sky from dirt and soil

What shall I say more, thinketh not but feel it O crazy Heart and damned soul

Thou art amidst stars a star that burned my world

Ashes remained and few words and a little courage

To seek thy greatness so far wide and stretched like the heavens above

Thee has many gifts more valuable than this gift of slackers slack

For I some quacks of ducks are enough to live with

Their bath is enough to seduce my heart in decay and waste lands

But for thee O my Dearesth, I shall steel a harem from sultans palace

All the jewels, linen, cloths, rich appetite, warm showers, old tales and slave girls shall be thine to be served

Than if thou hadst been satisfied still ‘tis what thou beauty deserves

A clock I must make that ticks not for future but for past centuries in Ancient Rome

There in Rome thou temple I must build for thee

Vanquishing Venus name shall I put thy name as Goddess of beauty to be worshipped

Thou art will be then praised for generations and generations to come ‘tis day of happy hours

Thou has born thank thy Lord that maketh you so desirable

Long live thee my wish to thee as my labors to thee

And as light to darkness shall be lighted in manner of day and night

‘tis day of happy hours shall last long to eternity

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