As I’m reading Hamlet, I chuckle to find
Shakespearean rhythms; they dance in my mind,
Their lines made of iambs, unstressed and then stressed,
In ten little syllables (well, more or less).

I scarce e’er use meter, I’d rather be free
To capture emotions in my poetry —
Or sometimes an image or sweet memory —
With words that express complementarily.

The sounds of the bard soothe and tickle my brain
And now that I start, I can scarcely refrain
From lining up feet in a novel old way
Inspired by this summer’s review of some plays

I first read in high school.  It’s now time to share
The tragedies’ potency, magic and air
To sweep up a poet at start of the day
And nudge her to frisk in a language ballet.