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 …

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  1. 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?”

  2. Given that the financial reasons for building more pipelines have apparently evaporated,

    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.

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