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.