Shakespeare would write of everyday things
 in proud iam pentameter
So that even the laundry days
 seem like something that matters.

Anon, Alas, a sword, a horse
  Star-crossed teenagers in love
A maid, a lord, a fairy queen
  Tongues trill with words from above.

But I am just a regular soul
  A lover of words, not a fighter.
Unlike the Bard, I speak in regular prose,
  But I, like him, a writer.