Four hundred years ago today, Old Will
Did shuffle off his mortal coil; itself,
The one young Hamlet noted with a chill,
That can’t be sidestepped by collected wealth.
The point’s established clearly, the last word
Will not be left to you, no matter who
You are; a grubby blogger or the Bard,
It really doesn’t matter what you do.
Just goes to show, I reckon, a good run
Can offer pleasant times, and cash to spend
But whether life’s a burden or all fun
It’s pretty much the same deal at the end.
And there’s a certain justice to that thought
Though, everything considered, not a lot …
This post also appears on Rabble.ca.
A sonnet on the anniversary
Of Willie’s day of death, what’s this I see?
Located in a noted pundit’s feed
Where folks expect a good polemic screed.
Did Climenhaga walk into a wall?
Or is this just his usual folderol?
The Fraser Institute can take a breath
‘Cause Dave is going on and on ’bout death.
One wonders what the working folk will say
Among the halls of rabble dot c a.
If Dave no longer cares about the classes
Just who will hand the Cons their right-wing asses?
The title of this piece, if up to me?
“The NDP: To be or not to be?”
David: Very good. Indeed, better than mine … DJC
There once was a lady from Nantucket…
I’d like to see Willie writing a sonnet on the price of oil and its relationship to provincial debt.
Given that the financial reasons for building more pipelines have apparently evaporated, http://thetyee.ca/Opinion/2016/04/20/Myth-of-Tidewater-Access/
perhaps a more appropriate author would be Cervantes who wrote Don Quixote and also died 400 years ago.
Come to think of it, both Shakespeare and Cervantes lived during a time when the price of wood was inflating because of all the quantitative easing created by the theft of Aztec and Inca gold by Spain.